^f/ 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


./ 


///<^ 


//        '  (7 


The  Sumy  Land: 


Q>'Uj  , 


PRISON  PKOSE  ANI)  POETRY, 


CONTAINING 


THE  PRODUCTIONS  OF  THE  ABLEST  WRITERS  IN  THE  SOUTH    AND 
PRISON  LAYS  OF  DISTINGUISHED  CONFEDERATE  OFFICERS, 


BY 


Col.  BUEHRING  H.  JONES, 

60TH  Virginia  Infantry. 

EDITED,  WITH   PREFACE,  BIOGRAPHIES,   SKETCHES,  AND   STORIES, 

By  J.  A.  HOUSTON. 


The  land  we  love— a  queen  of  lands, 
No  prouder  one  the  world  has  known  ; 
Though  now  uncrowned,  upon  her  throne 
%      She  sits  with  fetters  on  her  hands. 


BALTIMORE: 

1868. 


Entered  according  to  the  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  Year  i86S, 

By  BUEHRING  H.  JONES, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  Maryland. 


Innes  &  Company,  Printers, 
Baltimore,  Md. 


PREFACE. 


The  recent  war  aroused  the  slumbering  multitude  from 
a  deep  lethargy;  brought  a  host  of  unknown  heroes  into 
the  field,  and  quickened  into  new  life  many  gifted  intellects 
that  otherwise  might  have  remained  dormant.  The  soul- 
stirring  events  which  followed  each  other  in  rapid  succes- 
sion, gave  a  fresh  impulse  to  experienced  writers ;  and  num- 
bers whose  names  had  never  before  appeared  in  the  world 
of  letters,  took  up  their  pens  to  express  their  deep  emo- 
tions, and  to  recall  the  thrilling  incidents  of  a  long,  cruel, 
and  sanguinary  conflict.  The  Sunny  Land  contains  some 
of  the  best  products  of  their  joint  labors,  and  will  prove 
another  valuable  addition. to  the  collection  of  Southern 
literature. 

A  majority  of  these  selections  make  no  reference  to  the 
political  questions  which  then  divided  the  Union  into  two 
hostile  parties  struggling  for  the  mastery.  They  are  gen- 
erally descriptive  of  actual  occurrences,  or  poetical  effu- 
sions expressing  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  heart.  They 
never  display  the  passionate  resentment  that  might  have 
been  expected  to  emanate  from  an  oppressed,  exasperated 
and  suffering  people ;  and  they  often  breathe  the  longings 
of  the  soul  for  a  return  of  peace  and  prosperity.  Even 
the  prison  lays  composed  by  Confederate  officers  under  the 
most  aggravating  circumstances ;  when  they  were  endur- 
ing a  long  and  cheerless  confinement;  when  their  own 


IV  PREFACE. 

families  were  houseless  and  homeless  wanderers  without 
shelter;  when  their  cities  smoked  in  ruins,  and  the  whole 
land  was  drenched  in  fraternal  blood, — are  all  remarkably 
free  from  a  bitter  and  vindictive  spirit. 

The  story  entitled  "  The  Sunny  Land,"  is  not  a  work  of 
pure  fiction.  Some  of  our  readers  will  remember  the 
thrilling  scenes  described,  and  recognize  in  its  chosen  char- 
acters a  faithful  portrait  of  the  original  actors  in  a  bloody 
drama.  The  infamous  conduct  of  Captain  Pike  ;  the  cow- 
ardice of  the  blustering  Lieutenant;  the  devotion  of  Gra- 
ham Hardee  ;  the  adventures  of  Edward  Ash  ton  ;  the  ope- 
rations of  Rev.  Stanton ;  the  cruelty  of  irresponsible  in- 
dependent companies, — are  but  so  many  incidents  and  remi- 
niscences of  cruel  war  dressed  up  in  the  pleasing  garb  of 
fiction. 

The  conflict  is  now  over;  the  conquered  banner  has 
been  folded,  and  the  olive  branch  of  peace  waves  over  the 
blighted,  desolate,  ruined  sunny  South. 

"The  land  we  love,  the  queen  of  lands, 
No  prouder  one  the  world  has  known." 

The  tempest  has  spent  its  fury,  coercion  has  done  its 
worst,  and  the  war-song  is  hushed.  We  may  now  collect 
the  broken  fragments,  and  gather  up  the  sacred  mementoes 
of  a  lost  cause,  as  the  last  relic  of  other  days  never  to  be 
forgotten.  It  is  a  duty  we  owe  to  ourselves  and  to  poster- 
ity, to  preserve  a  faithful  record  of  the  events  that  occur- 
red during  that  fearful  period,  and  thereby  to  warn  all 
future  generations  to  avoid  the  fatal  whirlpool  of  civil  con- 
tention. 


Col.  BUEHRING  H.  JONES,  COth  VA.  INFANTKY. 


BuEHRiNG  H.  Jones  was  born  on  the  12th  of  May,  1823,  at  Clif- 
ton, Kanawha  County,  Virginia.  His  father  was  a  respectable  far- 
mer, his  mother  was  a  Morris  of  Culpeper  County,  and  his  grand- 
father one  of  the  pioneers  who  had  borne  arms  in  defence  of  that 
State. 

Mr.  Jones  was  carefully  educated,  and  well  instructed  in  religious 
principles.  He  has  ever  sustained  a  high  reputation  for  morality, 
honesty  and  integrity,  and  has  respectively  filled  the  positions  of  a 
teacher,  lawyer,  editor  and  legislator,  with  unusual  ability. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  late  war  he  was  residing  in  Missouri.  He 
opposed  secession  in  the  beginning,  and  labored  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Union  under  the  Constitution,  until  the  President  adopted  the 
policy  of  coercion,  and  called  for  seventy-five  thousand  men.  Two 
days  after  he  heard  of  the  secession  of  Virginia,  he  left  Missouri  and 
hastened  back  to  his  native  State,  raised  a  company  of  infantry 
called  the  "Dixie  Rifles,"  and  on  the  23 d  of  June,  1861,  entered 
the  Confederate  service. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  follow  Col.  Jones  through  the  various  cam- 
paigns of  the  late  war.  He,  in  common  with  the  Confederates,  min- 
gled in  many  bloody  conflicts  and  endured  untold  hardships.  He 
was  actively  engaged  in  the  seven  days'  fight  before  Richmond,  and 
at  Mechanicsville  led  his  regiment  against  a  strong  Federal  battery, 
and  carried  it  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  He  was  in  that  hard  con- 
test at  Cedar  Run,  and  soon  afterwards  participated  in  the  expulsion 
of  the  Federals  from  the  Kanawha  Valley.  During  this  period  he  was 
distinguished  for  his  bravery,  and  was  several  times  complimented  in 
the  official  reports  of  commanding  generals  on  account  of  his  cool- 
ness, gallantry  and  efficiency. 

Soon  after  the  desperate  engagement  of  Cloyd's  Mountain,  Gen. 


Vi  COL.  BUEHRING  H.  JONES,  60rH  VA,  INFANTRY. 

McCausland  was  promoted,  and  Col.  Jones  was  placed  in  command 
of  that  brigade.  His  prospects  were  now  most  flattering,  and  tke 
brevet  of  a  Brigadier- General  seemed  almost  a  certainty. 

The  main  forces  under  Gen.  Hunter  were  then  advancing  towards 
Staunton,  and  on  the  5th  of  June  the  battle  of  New  Hope,  or  Pied- 
mont, was  fought.  Here  the  Confederates  made  a  heroic  stand,  but 
they  were  overwhelmed  by  superior  numbers,  outflanked,  and  finally 
routed. 

Col.  Jones  was  amongst  the  last  to  leave  that  blood-stained  battle- 
field, and  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  He  was  sent  to  Johnson's 
Island,  where  he  was  kept  in  confinement  as  a  prisoner  of  war  until 
the  19th  of  June,  1865,  when  he  was  released  by  order  of  the  Presi- 
dent, mainly  at  the  intercession  of  Miss  Kate  Smoot  (now  Mrs.  M. 
Taylor)  of  Alexandria. 

As  soon  as  he  was  released  from  his  long  imprisonment,  he  re- 
turned to  Lewisburg,  West  Virginia,  physically  and  financially 
ruined.  Being  prevented  from  pursuing  his  profession  by  unreason- 
able, unjust,  and  odious  partisan  laws  enacted  against  the  popular 
will  of  the  people,  he  industriously  gathered  up  the  principal  manu- 
scripts which  compose  this  volume,  and  added  to  it  a  number  of 
productions  from  his  own  pen.     He  yet  resides  in 

"  The  sunny  South  !  the  sunny  South! 
The  laud  that  gave  him  birth, 
Where  brightest  hopes  once  cheered  his  youth, 
The  land  of  generous  worth." 


CONTENTS 


A  Prisoner's  Fanx'T,     - 

Arthur  Murray,  our  Little  Hero, 

A  Poem,        ----- 

A  Dirge  for  ashby. 

An  Invocation,     -  .  .  - 

A  Prayer  for  Peace, 

A  Love  Letter, 


Page. 

Col.  W.  S.  Hawkins,  269 

Capt.  A.  J.  Peeler,  273 

Stonewall"  Jackson,  371 

Mrs  M.J.Preston,  398 

Col.  W.  S.  Hawkins,  427 

Major  S.  Y.  Levy,  438 

Major  S.  Y.  Levy,  519 


Bury  our  Dead, 
Bay-Blossom  Cottage, 


325 
Lieut.  H.C  Wright,       363 


Creigh,  David  S.,     - 
Cousin  Maggie's  Posey, 
"  Clinging  to  Thee," 


W.  H.  Syme, 
Maj.S.  Y.  Levy, 


402 
495 
338 


Dead,    -------- 

Do  WE  Weep  for  the  Heroes  that  Died  for  Us? 


Col.  W.  S.  Hawkins, 
Rev.  A.  J.  Ryan, 


250 
313 


Eight  Years  Ago, 
"  Exchanged," 


W.  E.  Penn 
Maj.  Geo.  McKnight, 


268 
536 


First  Love,       -  .  .  -  . 

Federal  Policy  and  Northern  Prisons, 
Farewell  to  Johnson's  Island, 


Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  252 
-  Southern  Review,  440 
Maj.  Geo.  McKnight,       536 


Give  Up, 


Home  Again, 


Col.  B.  H.  Jones,       272 
Lieut.  H.  C.  Wright,       265 


If  a  Soldier  Meet  a  Soldier, 

In  Memoeiam  -JiTEbNAM  — My  Brother, 

1  AM  Coming,  Ella,     -  -  .  - 


Gen.  M.  Jetf  Thompson,       324 

-    Col.  B.  H.  Jones,       352 

-    J.  U.  Shorter,       354 


Johnson's  Island, 


Lieut.  E.  A.  Holmes, 


265 


Lee  to  the  Rear, 
Listening,    -  -  -  - 

Living  and  Dying, 
Laying  away  the  Old  Flag, 


J.  R.  Thompson, 

Lieut.  E.  C.  McCarthy, 

Maj.  Geo.  McKnight, 


259 
355 
3(yi 
397 


My  Prison  Drear, 

My  Southern  Home, 

My  Love  and  I, 

My  Wife  and  Child, 

Music  in  Camp, 

My  First  Ninety  Days, 


Lieut.  D.  T.  Walker,  266 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  308 

Maj.  Geo.  McKnight,  311 

Henry  R.  Jackson,  317 

J.  R.  Thompson,  365 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  501 


Our  Sotttheex  Dead, 


Rev.  A.  J.  Ryan, 


.=)28 


Vlll 


CONTENTS. 


PniV/n-ES  IN   THE  IiANKS,     -  -  -  - 

Rat  DEN  LixDEN, 

"  Stonewaxl  "  Jacksox's  Way, 
"Stox'ewall"  Jacksox's  Gkave, 
Sextixel  Soxgs,  .... 

Stitart,  -...--_ 

Silence,  ...... 

Sunset  in  Prisox% 

The  Sunny  L\xd,  a  Story  of  the  Cruel  War, 

To  A  Dear  Comforter.       -  .  .  . 

The  Prayer  of  the  South, 

The  Four  Brothers,     -  .  .  .  . 

The  Dying  Christian  Warrior, 

The  Victory  of  Truth,  ■ 

The  Volux'teer's  Returx*, 

The  Federal  Chaplain^'s  Story, 

The  Martyrs  of  the  South, 

The  Hero  "without  a  Name, 

To  Miss  C.  P.  B. 

Too  Touxg  to  Die,    - 

The  Cliff  beside  the  Sea, 

To  My  Departed  Father,      -  .  .  . 

To  Miss  K.  M.  S..  of  Alexandria, 

The  Substitute,      ..... 

The  Womex'  of  the  South.  ... 

The  Deathbed  of  "Stonewall"  Jacksox, 
The  Dyixg  Mother,  .... 

The  Swokd  of  Robert  Lee,    -  - 

The  Catalier's  Serenade, 

The  Prisoner's  Dream.  .... 

The  Death  of  William  H.  Mitchel. 

The  People  ix  Grey,         _  .  .  . 

The  Reasox^  Why,  .... 

The  Mixsteel  ax'd  the  Queen, 

The  Recompex'^se,    ..... 

The  Voices  of  the  Winds.       .  .  .  . 

The  Two  Sides  of  the  Prison  Question, 

The  Triple  Barbed  Banner, 

To  the  Coxtederate  Dead. 

The  Loved  and  Lost, 

To  ExcHAX'GE  Commissioner  Ould, 

The  Couxtebsign,       -  ... 

To  THE  Ladies  of  Virginia, 

The  Men,  ...... 

To  a  Photograph,  ..... 

The  Coxquered  Baxx'er,         .... 

Virginia  Desolate. 

ViDi  Ami  Plorare.    - 

ViRGIXTA  Captje,  ..... 

ViCKSBUBG,  ..... 


I'AGE. 

Lieut  E.  C.  McCarthy,  482 

CoL  B.  H.  Joues,  466 

36'J 

Mrp.  M.  .J.  Preston,  373 

Rev.  A  J.Ryan,  435 

Col.  W.  W.Fontaine,  473 

Lieut.  .J.  E.  Doolej%  527 

Lieut.  J.  E.  Dooley,  538 

-    Editor,  1 

CoL  B.  H.  Jones,  247 

Rev.  A.  J.  Ryan,  256 

Lieut.  E  C.  McCarthy,  263 

James  R.  Brewer,  264 

(ol.  W.S.Hawkins,  3114 

Lieut.  H.  C.  Wright.  309 

Mrs.  Gen"l  Smith,  319 

A.  B.  Meek,  321 

Col.  W.  S  Hawkins,  Sal 

Col.  B.H.Jones,  360 

J.  B.  Smith,  361 

Col.  W.  W.  Fontaine,  368 

Stonewall  .Jackson,  371 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  373 

-  Paul  H.  Hayne,  377 
Col  B.H.Jones.  383 

-  Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  387 
Col.B.  H.Jones,  388 
Rev.  A.  J.Ryan,  397 

400 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones.  424 

Lieut.  J.  E.  Dooley,  434 

Col.B.  H.Jones,  462 

Col.  B.H.Jones,  4frl 

Col.  W.  S.  Hawkins,  468 

Capt.  J.  B.  Clarke,  476 

Maj.S.  TatesLevy.  479 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  483 

Col.  W.  S.  Hawkins,  496 

Col.  W.  W.  Fontaine,  497 

Col.  B.  H.  Jones,  499 

Maj.  Geo.  McKnight,  516 

Col.  W.  W.  Fontaine,  523 

Col.  W.  W.  Fontaine,  525 

Maurice  Bell,  531 

-    Capt.  J.  B; Clarke,  532 

-  Rev.  A.  J.  Ryan,  539 

Col.  W.  W .  Fontaine.  350 

J.  E.  Dooley  356 

Mrs.  M.  Jf.  Preston.  529 

Paul  H.  Hayne,  534 


Woman's  Love, 

Will  no  One  Write  to  Me  ? 


Lieut.  Howard  C.  Wright, 
Maj.  Geo.  McKnight, 


470 
475 


CIjc  Smxmj  i^n;itir ;  u  Steg  of  tlje  Cnul  Mar. 


CHAPTEE   I. 

The  Belle  of  Two  Cities. 

Our  storj  opens  at  a  period  when  every  intelligent  per- 
son might  have  observed  ominous  signs  of  an  approaching 
civil  war,  yet  these  indications  were  generally  unheeded 
until  the  first  clang  of  arms  awoke  the  drowsy  multitude 
from  their  long  slumbers.  The  people  did  not  suppose  it 
possible  that  a  long,  fearful  and  unnatural  contest  would 
spring  up  in  their  midst,  and  be  waged  with  such  relent- 
less fury.  They  never  expected  to  see  the  time,  when 
neighbor  would  be  arrayed  against  neighbor,  friend  against 
friend,  and  brother  against  brother  —  when  towns  would 
be  burned  —  when  cities  would  smoke  in  ruins,  and  the 
whole  land  would  be  drenched  in  fraternal  blood.  They 
failed  to  perceive  the  encircling  current  of  popular  delu- 
sion, bearing  them  nearer,  and  yet  nearer,  the  great  vortex, 
destined  to  swallow  up  millions  of  their  fellow  creatures ; 
and  so  complete  was  their  apathy  that  they  did  not  observe 
the  foaming  breakers  in  the  distance,  nor  comprehend  the 
angry  clash  of  the  warring  elements. 

Even  at  this  early  period,  lawless  malcontents  were 
1 


2  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

busily  engaged  in  stirring  up  strife,  and  designing  dema- 
gogues were  endeavoring  to  arouse  the  worst  passions  of 
the  people.  Spirits  as  subtle  as  that  of  Cade  or  Danton, 
were  marshaling  the  hosts  of  a  sectional  party  beneath 
the  black  flag  of  abolition,  and  denouncing  our  noble  con- 
stitution, the  great  bulwark  of  civil  and  religious  liberty, 
as  a  "  covenant  with  death  and  a  league  with  hell."  Dis- 
tinguished political  adventurers,  thoroughly  imbued  with 
the  vile  spirit  of  fanaticism,  determined  to  rule  or  ruin, 
were  like  Sampson,  blindly  attempting  to  pull  down  our 
magnificent  structure  of  freedom,  unmindful  of  the  mil- 
lions who  would  be  crushed  beneath  its  falling  arches. 
But  notwithstanding  all  these  portentous  signs  of  ap- 
proaching troubles,  it  was  generally  believed  that  the  gath- 
ering clouds  along  the  northern  horizon  would  disperse, 
that  the  muttering  thunders  would  be  hushed,  and  that  the 
threatened  tempest  would  soon  pass  away,  leaving  the 
political  heavens  as  calm  and  serene  as  they  appeared  in 
the  purest  days  of  the  Eepublic.  They  vainly  imagined 
that  right,  justice,  and  reason,  would  triumph  over  sec- 
tional hate,  malice,  and  ill-will.  They  knew  not  that  they 
were  slumbering  over  a  fearful  volcano,  whose  increasing 
internal  disorders  might  then  have  been  perceived ;  which 
finally  shook  this  continent  with  terrible  convulsions,  des- 
olated vast  regions,  and  filled  the  land  with  wails  and  lam- 
entations. 

Our  wise  men  understood  these  indications  and  spoke  of 
approaching  evil.  They  read  the  "hand  writing  on  the 
wall "  and  warned  the  people  to  prepare  for  the  fiercest 
storm  that  ever  swept  over  the  Western  Hemisphere,  but 
their  words  were  not  regarded.  The  people  yet  believed 
that  the  machinations  of  unscrupulous  men  would  be  over- 
ruled, and  that  they  would  long  be  permitted  to  rest  in 
quiet,  peace,  and  prosperity. 

The  curtains  of  night  had  gathered  over  the  city  of 
Nashville  at  the  close  of  a  long  sultry  day,  in  the  summer 


i 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  6 

preceding  the  beginning  of  the  recent  civil  war.  The 
heat  had  been  bo  intense  as  to  drive  the  citizens  from  the 
streets,  but  after  sunset  a  refreshing  breeze  8j)rang  up, 
which  reduced  the  temperature  of  the  atmosphere  to  such 
a  degree,  as  to  render  it  comfortable  to  all  persons  accus- 
tomed to  a  Southern  clime.  At  an  early  hour  that  night, 
a  perfect  throng  of  people  poured  out  into  the  streets,  and 
crowded  the  great  thoroughfares,  as  if  in  pursuit  of  some 
long  expected  pleasure.  Every  house  seemed  to  have  dis- 
gorged its  last  inmate ;  for  those  not  disposed  to  exercise 
in  the  open  air,  were  seated  on  the  marble  steps  in  front 
of  their  dwellings,  grouped  in  quiet  social  circles,  an  hon- 
ored custom  common  to  all  Southern  cities. 

At  the  same  time  the  elite  of  Nashville  were  wandering 
along  the  streets,  or  promenading  in  the  more  fashionable 
resorts,  two  individuals  might  have  been  seen  seated  in  an 
elegantly  furnished  parlor,  engaged  in  a  quiet  conversation. 
One  of  these  was  a  well  dressed  young  gentleman,  about 
twenty  years  of  age,  of  medium  height,  possessing  a  hand- 
some figure,  and  a  fine  open  and  attractive  countenance. 
His  features  were  regular,  his  forehead  prominent,  his  eyes 
expressive  of  much  mental  activity,  and  his  whole  appear- 
ance indicated  manliness,  firmness  and  more  than  ordinary 
ability. 

The  other  party,  a  young  lady,  perhaps  near  the  same 
age,  was  somewhat  extravagantly  dressed  in  a  most  fash- 
ionable style,  and  reclined  in  an  easy  chair,  in  a  graceful 
attitude. 

We  will  not  attempt  a  concise  description  of  this  queenly 
beauty,  known  as  "  the  belle  of  two  cities."  She  certainly 
possessed  more  charms  than  is  usually  allotted  to  her  sex. 
She  had  every  quality  calculated  to  win  the  affections  of 
a  young  man  of  twenty  years,  and  being  reputed  wealthy, 
and  known  to  be  accomplished,  the  gay  world  bestowed 
on  her  many  smiles  as  she  moved  through  the  highest  cir- 
cles of  society. 


4  THE    SUNNY   LAND  ; 

At  the  moment  we  introduce  the  reader  into  the  pres- 
ence of  these  two  individuals,  destined  to  occupy  a  prom- 
inent position  in  our  story,  they  were  both  silent.  The 
young  man  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  her  fair  countenance, 
as  if  puzzled  by  an  enigma  which  he  was  utterly  unable 
to  solve.  A  shade  of  sadness  gathered  over  his  expressive 
features,  as  he  watched  the  cold,  but  beautiful  fiice  of  one 
he  dearly  loved.  After  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  he 
said  : 

"Dear  Pennie,  I  hear  you  think  of  leaving  Nashville." 

"  Yes  sir,"  she  replied  in  a  distant  manner,  "  1  think  of 
returnins:  home." 

"When  do  you  expect  to  set  out  for  Cincinnati?"  he 
asked,  in  a  tone  that  betrayed  the  deep  interest  he  felt  in 
this  subject. 

"In  two  or  three  days,"  replied  the  beautiful  girl,  and 
at  the  same  time  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face  in  order  to 
learn  the  eifect  of  the  announcement. 

"  So  soon  ?  "  exclaimed  this  gentleman  —  "  so  soon  !  "  he 
repeated,  without  any  attempt  to  disguise  the  actual  feel- 
ings of  his  heart. 

"Yes  sir,"  she  replied  in  the  same  formal  manner.  "1 
hope  soon  to  be  with  my  father  and  mother." 

The  young  man  looked  at  the  beautiful  "belle  of 'two 
cities  "  a  few  moments,  in  a  manner  which  bespoke  both 
sadness  and  tenderness,  and  then  continued  — 

"  I  hope  often  to  hear  from  you." 

'^  I  do  not  know,"  she  replied,  in  an  assumed  and  care- 
less tone.  "I  will  write  occasionally  to  my  relatives  in 
this  city." 

A  painful  expression  gathered  over  his  face,  but  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  he  continued  with  a2:)parent  calmness : 

"  Dear  Pennie,  you  know  how  dear  you  are  to  me,  and 
you  have  often  confessed  that  I  am  loved  in  return.  We 
have  together  vowed  that  vow  never  to  be  broken.  We 
have  sworn  to  live  for  each  other,  to  love  each  other, 
and " 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  5 

"  Edward  —  Mr.  Ashton,"  exclaimed  the  lady,  interrupt- 
ing him  in  the  midst  of  the  sentence.  He  ceased  speaking, 
and  Pennie  cast  down  her  head,  as  if  at  a  loss  how  to  pro- 
ceed, but  after  a  moment  she  continued  :  "  Mr.  Ashton,  in- 
deed I  do  not  love  you  !  I  once  imagined  I  could  bestow 
on  you  my  heart  and  hand,  but  I  cannot;  and  the  sooner 
we  forget  our  little  flirtation  the  better  it  will  be  for  each 
of  us." 

Edward  Ashton  was  utterly  astonished  at  this  unexpect- 
ed announcement,  which  had,  in  a  moment,  blasted  his 
fondest  hopes  of  happiness.  He  was  deeply  wounded  to 
think  he  had  lavished  the  warm  affections  of  his  heart  on 
one  so  unworthy.  He  had  believed  Pennie  pure,  open- 
hearted,  unselfish,  and  above  deception ;  but  now  she  had 
with  rude  hands,  torn  the  bandage  from  his  eyes,. and  ex- 
posed her  moral  deformity.  He  felt  that  the  world  would 
be  a  blank  without  the  sunshine  of  her  smiles ;  but  the 
belle  who  now  sat  before  him  was  not  the  bright  creature 
he  had  worshipped.  The  idol  was  there,  but  it  had  lost  its 
beautiful  proportions.  The  lovely  form  remained,  with  all 
its  matchless  perfections,  but  it  could  attract  him  no  more. 
When  she  had  concluded  her  cold  and  unfeeling  words,  he 
slowly  replied  — 

"  Then  you  never  loved  me,  and  deceived  me  by  false 
representations.  You  acted  your  part  well,  won  my  heart, 
and  now  would  break  that  sacred  engagement  with  perfect 
indifference.  I  will  not  upbraid  you.  I  would  not  if  I 
could,  hold  you  to  your  faithless  promises." 

Edward  arose  to  depart,  resolved  to  bid  her  adieu  for- 
ever, but  she  commenced  speaking,  and  he  resumed  hi^ 
seat. 

"Mr.  Ashton,"  she  said,  "  I  would  not  have  you  to  think 
that  I  would  engage  myself  to  any  one  without  feeling  a 
particle  of  love.  I  met  you  in  the  first  circles  of  society, 
and  supposed  that  you  were  wealthy;  and  I  then  believed 
you  in  every  respect,  my  equal,  but  now  I  know  you  pos- 
sess nothing." 


6  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"You  discard  me,"  said  Edward,  bitterly,  "because  I 
am  not  wealthy.  I  never  dreamed  that  you  whom  I 
adored  would  permit  such  considerations  to  govern  the 
feelings  of  the  heart." 

"  I  have  other  reasons,"  replied  the  proud  belle. 

"I  would  be  pleased  to  hear  them,"  said  Edward. 

"  Since  you  request  it,"  replied  Pennie,  "I  will  say  that 
I  have  been  informed  your  own  sister  occupied  a  menial 
position — that  of  a  servant  in  this  city." 

Edward's  face  instantly  flushed  with  anger,  but  it  soon 
passed  away,  leaving  him  unusually  pale.  Some  moments 
afterwards  he  replied  in  a  low  and  solemn  tone : 

"  It  is  not  true.  I  once  had  a  sister  — •  the  best  of  sisters 
—  she  now  rests  in  the  silent  grave." 

The  young  man  ceased  to  speak.  The  most  painful 
emotions  struggled  in  his  breast,  and  marked  every  linea- 
ment of  his  face.  Even  the  proud  and  dashing  belle  was 
appalled  at  the  storm  she  had  raised,  and  remained  silent. 
Finally,  Edward  arose  to  his  feet  and  said: 

"  It  is  useless  to  prolong  this  painful  interview.  I  once 
imagined  you  all  I  desired,  and  I  thank  you  for  dispelling 
the  vain  illusion.     You  deceived  me,  but " 

"  I  did  not  deceive  you  intentionally,"  said  Pennie,  inter- 
rupting him  again ;  "  but,  Mr.  Ashton,  the  day  will  never 
come  when  I  will  wed  one  beneath  me  —  one  who  is  pen- 
niless, and  have  it  said  that  my  husband's  sister  was  a 
common  servant." 

"  We  have  no  servants  in  the  South  but  our  slaves,"  he 
replied,  indignantly.  "  Again  I  thank  you  for  these  bitter 
;words  " — he  continued,"  for  this  reference  to  a  sainted  sister, 
once  the  joy  and  happiness  of  my  life.  The  remembrance 
of  this  will  assist  me  to  tear  your  image  from  my  heart.'' 

Edward  turned  to  leave  the  room,  but  Pennie  instantly 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  exclaimed — ""Forgive  me  —  I  did 
not  wish  to  ofl'end.  I  only  spoke  of  the  dead  in  order  to 
justify  my  own  conduct." 


A    STORY    OF    THE   CRUEL    WAR.  7 

He  stood  irresolute  a  few  moments,  as  if  struggling 
against  the  aroused  passions  of  his  nature,  and  then  walked 
back,  extended  his  hand,  and  said  : 

''  No,  I  would  not  leave  you  thus";  I  will  forgive  the  wrong, 
pain,  and  injury  you  have  inflicted.     Farewell,  forever!" 

The  painful  interview  had  terminated,  the  young  man 
had  departed,  and  the  "  belle  of  two  cities  "  was  now  alone, 
buried  in  her  own  reflections.  She  had  accomplished  her 
purpose  in  breaking  ofl*  the  engagement,  and  was  once 
more  free  to  choose  from  a  host  of  admirers  who  were 
ready  to  lay  their  fortunes  at  her  feet,  but  she  was  not, 
and  could  not  be  happy.  She  had  done  violence  to  the 
better  feelings  of  her  heart,  and  must  endure  the  fearfal 
penalty. 

Every  sinful  pleasure  in  this  life  is  said  to  leave  behind 
it  a  sting.  It  was  certainly  so  with  Pennie  on  this  occa- 
sion. She  long  sat  with  a  sad  countenance,  musing  on  the 
work  she  had  accomplished.  She  knew  that  she  loved  Ed- 
ward as  she  loved  no  other  person,  and  she  believed  he  was 
far  more  worthy  of  her  heart  and  hand  than  any  of  those 
who  followed  in  her  train.  She  was  astonished  that  it 
should  give  her  so  much  inward  pain  to  dismiss  him  for- 
ever. She  cared  not  for  her  broken  vows,  nor  sacred  prom- 
ises, but  she  could  not  still  an  aching  void  within  her 
own  breast.  Pride  was  her  only  consolation  —  the  anti- 
dote she  now  conjured  to  quiet  a  troubled  conscience  and 
to  justify  the  course  she  had  pursued.  "  How  could  I,"  she 
exclaimed  half  aloud,  "  stoop  to  wed  one  so  much  beneath 
me  —  one  without  a  fortune  ?  I  can  and  will  choose  a  part- 
ner for  life  who  possesses  an  abundance  of  this  world's 
goods.  I  must  school  this  foolish  heart,  and  crush  these 
afl'ections  which  have  sprung  up  unbidden." 

Thus  the  fair  Pennie  reflected;  but  she  learned  to  her 
sorrow  that  it  is  much  easier  to  reason  than  to  perform. 
She  was,  in  some  respects,  cold  and  heartless,  yet  she  found 
it  impossible  to  overcome  the  instincts  of  her  womanly 


O  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

nature  —  the  desire  to  love  and  to  be  loved  in  return. 
Then  again  she  was  maddened  at  the  thought  that  she 
could  never  recall  the  bitter  words  she  had  spoken  —  that 
it  was  useless  to  repent  of  this  act,  that  she  could  never 
again  reinstate  herself  in  the  good  graces  and  warm  affe;)- 
tions  of  the  only  one  she  had  ever  admired. 

Pennie  Eaymond  was  the  only  daughter  of  a  Cincinnati 
merchant,  reputed  to  be  very  wealthy.  She  had  long  been 
the  acknowledged  belle  of  her  native  city,  where  she  had 
reigned  without  a  rival. 

A  few  months  previous  to  the  period  when  our  story 
opens,  she  came  on  a  visit  to  her  relatives,  who  resided  in 
]^ashville,  and  soon  had  the  pleasure  of  creating  a  consid- 
erable sensation  in  the  highest  circles  of  society.  Here  she 
often  met  with  Edward  Ashton,  and  was  soon  constrained 
to  admit  that  she  loved  the  handsome  young  gentleman. 
She  despised  the  swarm  of  gay  flatterers  who  fawned  at 
her  feet,  and  lavished  her  affections  on  one  chosen  object. 
Iso  dissensions,  such  as  sometimes  mark  the  course  of  true 
love,  had  ever  arisen  to  mar  their  happiness,  until  the 
night  described,  when  she  lightly  treated  her  solemn  vows, 
and  spurned  a  love  she  was  not  worthy  to  receive. 

Such  was  the  proud  and  beautiful  "  belle  of  two  cities." 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR. 


CHAPTEE    II. 

A  Member  of  the  Nashville  Bar. 

Edward  Ashton  was  the  only  son  of  a  prominent  law- 
yer, who  had  resided  in  a  flourishing  village  in  West 
Tennessee.  He  was  noble,  kind,  and  generous  to  a  fault, 
sometimes  making  a  much  greater  sacrifice  for  the  benefit 
of  his  friends  than  duty  required.  He  was  an  honor  to 
his  profession,  admired  by  his  associates,  and  esteemed  by 
a  large  circle  of  his  acquaintances. 

Mr.  Ashton  was  supposed  to  be  wealthy.  He  possessed 
a  considerable  amount  of  real  estate,  and,  for  a  long  time, 
controlled  a  large  practice  at  the  bar. 

Some  years  previous  to  the  period  of  which  we  write, 
he  resolved  that  Edward  should  have  the  benefit  of  a 
thorough  classical  education.  He  accordingly  sent  him  to 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  institutions  of  the  South, 
where  he  finally  graduated  with  honor;  then  returned 
home  and  began  reading  law,  at  which  he  continued  until 
his  studies  were  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  unexpected 
death  of  both  his  father  and  mother. 

Martha  Ashton,  Edward's  only  sister,  a  beautiful  and 
fragile  creature,  was  then  in  her  sixteenth  summer.  She 
possessed  a  feeble  constitution,  and  seemed  unable  to  grap- 
ple with  the  difficulties  of  this  life ;  but  her  brother  was 
ready  to  console  her  in  every  hour  of  distress.  She  was 
deeply  grieved  at  the  sudden  death  of  her  parents.  Ed- 
ward pitied  her  in  her  loneliness,  sorrow,  and  despondency, 
and  extended  to  her  that  sympathy  she  so  much  needed. 
1* 


10  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

He  was  much  surprised  to  learn  that,  owing  to  some  se- 
curity debts,  his  father's  estate  would  prove  insolvent. 
Every  thing  they  possessed,  including  the  old  homestead, 
were  swept  away  by  these  liabilities,  and  he  was  tljen 
thrown  entirely  upon  his  own  resources. 

Edward  now  left  Martha  in  charge  of  a  relative,  and 
proceeded  to  Nashville,  in  search  of  employment.  After 
considerable  delay,  he  obtained  a  situation  in  a  large 
wholesale  house,  at  a  salary  barely  sufficient  for  his  own 
support,  and  consequently  was  compelled  to  remain  separa- 
ted from  his  sister. 

He  now  went  to  work  with  a  light  heart,  determined  to 
make  his  way  through  the  world  without  assistance.  By 
close  application  and  strict  integrity,  he  soon  won  the  con- 
jBdence  of  his  employer,  who  advanced  his  wages  to  an 
amount  he  supposed  would  be  sufficient  to  maintain  him- 
self and  his  sister,  by  using  close  economy. 

Martha  soon  afterwards  joined  her  brother  in  Nashville, 
where  she  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  pious  lady,  belong- 
ing to  that  class  who  are  ever  ready  to  perform  whatsoever 
"their  hands  findeth  to  do,"  and  "never  weary  of  well  doing." 
She  kindly  invited  the  lonely  orphan  to  reside  with  her  as 
a  companion.  This  generous  offer  was  accepted,  and  she 
became  one  of  that  family. 

The  word  servant,  in  the  odious  sense  it  is  sometimes 
used,  especially  in  the  Northern  latitudes,  was  never  ap- 
plied to  her  in  this  new  situation,  by  any  one  familiar  with 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  South.  She  was  here 
treated  as  an  equal,  and  in  every  way  rendered  comforta- 
ble, happy  and  contented. 

Martha  did  not  long  enjoy  this  new  home.  Her  health 
o-radually  failed,  and  she  finally  passed  away  from  earth 
like  a  flower  in  its  first  bloom,  nipped  by  the  hoary  frosts 
of  winter. 

Soon  after  this  sad  event,  'Pennie  Eaymond  came  to 
Nashville,  in  order  to  spend  a  few  months  with  her  friends. 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  11 

Edward  then  met  with  the  gay  and  dashii.^,"  "  belle  of  two 
cities."  He  first  admired,  and  then  loved  her  with  all  the 
ardor  of  his  susceptible  nature. 

On  the  following  night  after  the  occurrence  of  the  events 
heretofore  related,  a  young  man  was  seated  in  a  law  office 
fronting  on  one  of  the  principal  streets  of  Nashville,  en- 
gaged in  perusing  a  daily  journal,  and  surrounded  by  a 
profusion  of  law  books,  magazines,  and  miscellaneous 
works. 

This  gentleman  was  perhaps  a  little  above  the  ordinary 
height,  well  formed  and  muscular.  His  countenance,  eyes 
and  forehead  indicated  a  man  of  superior  abilities,  and 
great  force  of  character.  His  features  were  all  regular, 
and  he  might  with  much  propriety  have  been  pronounced 
handsome. 

Such  was  the  appearance  of  Graham  Hardee,  attorney 
at  law,  and  a  member  of  the  bar,  then  practicing  his  pro- 
fession in  ISTashville. 

He  read  a  short  time,  and  then  cast  the  journal  aside 
with  an  impatient  gesture ;  after  which  he  remained  mo- 
tionless, apparently  lost  in  his  own  reflections.  Whatso- 
ever may  have  been  the  nature  of  his  reverie,  it  was  evident 
that  it  was  of  a  pleasant  character,  for  every  now  and  then 
a  smile  played  over  his  expressive  features. 

Graham  Hardee  had  fallen  heir  to  a  large  estate,  and 
he  had  possessed  every  opportunity  for  mental  culture  that 
could  be  desired.  He  was  not  willing  to  become  an  idle 
drone  in  society  because  necessity  did  not  compel  him  to 
labor,  but  preferred  an  active  life.  He  had  chosen  law  as 
his  profession,  and  had  long  been  a  diligent  and  untiring 
student.  His  mind  was  stored  with  useful  knowledge,  and 
he  was  sober,  industrious  and  upright. 

At  the  same  time,  he  was  not  one  of  those  morose  crea- 
tures who  never  wear  a  smile,  and  only  know  how  to  find 
fault  with  the  world.  He  could  indulge  in  laughter  on  all 
suitable  occasions  and,  to  some  extent,  believed  in  the  en- 


12  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

joyment  of  this  life.     He  possessed  a  keen  sense  of  the 
ludicrous,  and  always  relished  any  innocent  amusement. 

Graham  was  now  in  his  twenty-fourth  year,  but  remain- 
ed single,  notwithstanding  Madam  Eamor  had  frequently 
reported  that  he  had  selected  ]\Iis3  Jennie  "Wilson,  a  fine, 
accomplished  and  wealthy  lady  of  that  city,  as  his  part- 
ner in  the  joys  and  sorrows  of  earth. 

A  number  of  marriageable  young  ladies,  of  an  uncertain 
age,  assisted- by  designing  mothers,  had  attempted  to  draw 
him  into  an  alliance,  offensive  and  defensive,  but  all  their 
efforts  had  proved  in  vain.  Some  had  already  expressed 
their  opinion  that  he  Avould  continue  in  "  single  blessedness" 
until  he  became  an  odious  old  bachelor,  whom  the  world 
at  large,  and  especially  single  ladies  on  the  shady  side  of 
twenty,  have  a  perfect  right  to  denounce  on  all  occasions. 

Graham  Hardee  yet  remained  in  his  office,  indulging  in 
a  reflective  mood,  when  the  door  opened  and  Edward  Ash- 
ton  stood  in  his  presence.  He  welcomed  the  visitor  with 
evident  pleasure,  and  then  said, — "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  — 
where  have  you  been  during  the  last  few  days  ?  " 

"It  would  be  difficult  to  answer,"  replied  Edward. 

'*I  must  have  a  full  account,"  continued  Graham,  with 
a  smile.  ''Eemember  we  are  under  mutual  obligations  to 
make  full  reports  to  each  other." 

''You  can  proceed,"  said  Edward. 

"  I  have  made  but  one  visit  since  we  last  met,"  replied 
Graham ;  "  I  then  called  on  Jennie  Wilson,  whom  I  found 
as  happy,  sweet  and  charming  as  mortals  could  desire." 

"Let  me  congratulate  you  on  the  pleasant  prospect," 
said  Edward. 

"And  further  this  deponent  saith  not,"  continued  Graham, 
and  then,  after  a  moment,  he  added :  "  You  seem  low- 
spirited  this  evening." 

"  Somewhat  grand,  gloomy  and  peculiar." 

"When  did  you  see  the  Star  Spangled  Banner  of  two 
cities?"  asked  Graham,  alluding  to  Pennie  Eaymond. 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  13 

"  Yesterday,"  replied  his  friend. 

"  All  right?"  said  Graham,  interrogatively. 

"  All  wrong,"  replied  Edward,  solemnly. 

"In  what  way?"  asked  Graham. 

Edward  now  made  a  statement  as  to  the  manner  he  had 
been  treated  by  Pennie  Eaymond,  which  is  already  known 
to  the  reader,  and  when  he  had  concluded,  Graham  said  : 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  she  confessed  her  true  motives  ?" 

"  I  cannot  say,"  he  replied. 

"  Where  is  that  sandy-haired,  extravagantly  dressed 
Norwegian,  and  most  fashionable  rival,  Hiram  Pike  ?  " 

"He  received  his  walking  papers  some  weeks  ago,  and 
left  this  citj^  in  disgust." 

"Then  he  was  not  the  cause  of  this  catastrophe,"  said 
Graham,  thoughtfully.  "  I  am  not  surprised  at  this  sud- 
den termination  of  the  whole  affair,  for  that  belle  does  not 
possess  any  more  heart  than  a  Yankee  wooden  nutmeg. 
You  should  rejoice  that  you  have  escaped  a  life  of  misery. 
Cheer  up,  '  for  there  is  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  ever  was 
caught.'  " 

"  I  have  no  inclination  to  fish  any  more !  " 

"I  suppose  not,"  replied  Graham.  "  But  you  will  soon 
be  in  love  with  some  other  smiling  beauty.^' 

Edward  shook  his  head,  feeling  that  all  hopes  of  wedded 
bliss  were  dead  forever.  He  thought  his  own  case  beyond 
recovery,  and  believed  that  he  could  never  again  enjoy  the 
transports  of  sweet  and  passionate  love. 

"  I  have  concluded  to  visit  the  mountains  of  East  Ten- 
nessee and  North  Carolina,"  said  Graham. 

"For  what  purpose?" 

"For  several  reasons,"  he  replied.  "It  is  becoming 
warm  and  disagreeable  in  the  city,  and  I  wish  to  escape 
this  eternal  dust,  din  and  confusion.  Again,  there  will 
probably  be  considerable  sickness  in  the  next  two  months, 
and  I  have  no  desire  to  shake  off  this  mortal  coil,  at 
present." 


14  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

"Sound  premises,  and  a  reasonable  deduction,"  said 
Edward. 

"I  have  an  aunt  residing  near  Asheville,  North  Carolina, 
whom  I  desire  to  visit,"  continued  Graham.  "  I  wish  to 
see  that  wild  country,  and  the  original  specimens  of  human- 
ity which  inhabit  it.    Now  I  want  you  to  accompany  me." 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  more,"  replied  Edward,  "but 
I  am  not  sure  I  can  do  so."  , 

"  I  was  called  upon  this  morning,"  said  Graham,  "  to 
draw  up  a  legal  document,  by  which  I  know  your  employer 
will  soon  go  out  of  business." 

"  I  am  aware  of  it,"  replied  Edward,  "  and  I  am  offered 
a  situation  by  his  successor,  but  I  do  not  intend  to  accept 
it,  having  determined  to  commence  the  practice  of  law." 

"Have  you  made  any  arrangements  to  do  so  ?"  enquired 
Graham. 

"  None,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  I  will  make  you  a  proposition,"  said  Graham, 
seriously.  "Accompany  me  on  this  tour,  and  when  we 
return  in  the  fall,  we  will  put  our  heads  together  and  see 
what  can  be  done.  Here  is  a  good  office,  law  books,  and 
everything  an  attorney  requires,  except  brain  and  impu- 
dence. I  have  a  good  practice,  which  is  gradually  in- 
creasing. Now,  if  you  are  satisfied  to  do  so,  you  can 
commence  with  me,  and  we  will  equally  share  the  profits." 

Edward  willingly  accepted  this  offer,  and  all  the  details 
were  soon  arranged  to  their  mutual  satisfaction.  The 
new  firm  was  to  go  into  existence  as  soon  as  they  returned 
from  their  proposed  journey. 

"  Now,"  said  Edward,  "  we  will  hide  ourselves  for  a 
time  in  the  mountains,  far  from  the  gay  and  fashionable 
world." 

"  I  think  I  will  enjoy  the  rustic  simplicity  of  our  new 
associates,"  replied  Graham. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  their  manners  and  customs," 
continued  Edward.  "I  received  my  education  in  the  midst 
of  the  mountains  of  East  Tennessee." 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  15 

"  I  had  forgotten,"  said  Graham,  "  tliat  you  are  a  sprig 
of  Maryville  College  —  brought  up  at  the  feet  of  Gamaliel, 
in  the  classical  shades  of  that  renowned  seat  of  knowl- 
edge." 

"  It  is  one  of  the  oldest  institutions  of  learning  in  the 
South,"  added  Edward,  "and  I  should  like  to  visit  it 
again." 

"  We  can  easily  do  so,  as  we  will  pass  near  that  point." 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  more,"  continued  Edward. 

"  Then  we  shall  certainly  call,  so  you  may  have  an  op- 
portunity of  seeing  its  venerable  walls  once  more  before 
that  war  shall  come  which  our  prophets  and  seers  predict, 
for  one  stone  may  not  then  be  left  upon  another." 

"  Our  prophets  and  seers  may  be  correct,"  said  Edward, 
and  then  added,  solemnly :  "  The  signs  are  ominous  of 
evil." 

"  It  is  useless  to  anticipate  trouble,"  replied  Graham, 
"  it  is  always  best  to  enjoy  the  present." 

"  Our  wise  men,"  said  Edward,  "  tell  us  that  content- 
ment is  the  sweetener  of  life,  in  all  its  phases." 

"  I  have,"  said  Gi-aham,  "  witnessed  so  much  of  the 
pride,  vanity  and  ambition,  common  to  the  circle  in  which 
I  move,  that  I  Avish  to  escape  from  home  and  associate 
with  a  rustic  people." 

*' You  hate  society,"  said  Edward. 

"  I  see  much  in  it  to  commend,  and  much  I  dislike." 

"A  vain  show  is,  after  all,  more  effective  than  real 
merit." 

"  Many  lose  sight  of  virtue,  knowledge,  and  intellectual 
ability,"  he  replied,  "  and  imagine  that  money  alone  should 
render  them  considerable.  They  never  attempt  to  do 
good  with  the  means  they  possess,  and  neglect  to  stamp 
on  their  coin  the  image  of  the  Deity,  so  that  it  may  circu- 
late as  the  merchandise  of  Heaven.  As  well  might  we 
suppose  that  the  rich  paintings,    carvings  and  gilding. 


16  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

would  render  a  ship  sufficiently  strong  to  bid  defiance  to 
the  waves,  as  to  value  a  man  according  to  his  wealth." 

It  was  late  that  night  when  the  two  friends  separated. 
Edward's  spirits  had  revived,  and  he  began  to  feel  that  he 
might  in  time  forget  the  past ;  live  and  be  happy  without 
the  genial  smiles  of  one  who  had  trampled  on  the  warm 
affections  of  his  heart, 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUET^   WAR.  17 


CIIAPTEE    III. 

Hiram  Pike  and  the  Yankek  Parson. 

Edward  Ashton  and  his  friend  arrived  at  Knoxville, 
provided  with  ample  baggage  for  the  intended  journey. 
Learning  that  they  would  not  be  able  to  obtain  a  public 
conveyance  until  the  next  morning,  they  proceeded  to  the 
Lamar  House,  where  they  expected  to  spend  the  night. 
Upon  entering  the  gentleman's  parlor  they  found  it  de- 
serted; and  they  sat  down  and  began  perusing  the 
daily  journals,  which  at  this  period  possessed  unusual  in- 
terest, owing  to  the  approaching  Presidential  election. 
,  A  few  minutes  afterwards  a  stranger  entered,  whose  sin- 
gular appearance  immediately  attracted  their  attention. 
He  was  probably  something  more  than  fifty  years  of  age, 
and  carried  in  one  hand  a  carpet  satchel  and  held  in  the 
other  a  well-worn  umbrella.  He  was  dressed  in  a  plain 
black  suit  and  wore  a  white  cravat,  which  indicated  that 
he  belonged  to  the  clerical  profession.  His  hair  was  dark, 
his  lips  thick,  and  a  habitual  grin  marred  his  features  and 
gave  him  a  repulsive  appearance.  Such  was  this  specimen 
of  modern  theology,  hailing  from  one  of  the  ISTew  England 
States,  but  then  residing  in  East  Tennessee,  where  he  had 
charge  of  a  small  Abolition  church,  to  whom  he  occasion- 
ally ministered  in  holy  things,  and  often  instructed  in  his 
political  doctrines. 

Another  individual,  perhaps  thirty-five  years  of  age, 
now  entered.  He  was  tall,  well-made,  and  might  have 
been  considered  handsome.     He  was  dressed  with  evident 


18  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

care,  and  his  whole  appearance  indicated  a  man  possessing 
more  than  usual  self-importance.     His  face  was  of  that 
peculiar  description,  that  it  would  have  puzzled  an  expe 
rienced  physiognomist  to  have  decided  what  were  the 
leading  traits  of  his  character. 

Upon  entering  he  immediately  recognized  the  Rev. 
Obadiah  Stanton,  to  whom  he  advanced  and  extended  his 
hand.  The  Parson  arose  with  a  smile  and  exclaimed, 
"  Hiram  Pike,  my  dear  friend  of  Kansas  notoriety." 

They  sat  down  together  and  began  conversing  in  a  low 
tone,  which  gradually  became  louder  so  that  many  of  their 
words  fell  on  the  ears  of  our  two  friends,  whose  presence 
they  seemed  to  have  forgotten. 

Hiram  Pike  spoke  of  certain  occurrences  in  Kansas 
which  were  evidently  of  a  secret  character — boasted  of 
the  services  he  had  performed  in  that  State  for  the  benefit 
of  universal  freedom — referred  to  the  Anti-slavery  organ- 
izations of  the  iS[orth  with  which  he  was  connected,  and 
stated  that  he  was  in  the  South  for  the  purpose  of  promo- 
ting the  interests  of  his  party.  • 

The  parson  then  gave  an  account  of  his  recent  visit  to 
the  New  England  States — the  conferences  he  had  held 
with  the  Beechers,  the  Chevers,  the  Garrisons  and  Parkers 
of  the  Korth — the  organizations  which  everywhere  ex- 
isted— the  intention  to  cause  a  ceaseless  agitation  of  the 
vexed  question — the  vast  amount  of  money  at  their  com- 
mand, and  the  prospect  of  soon  overthrowing  the  hated 
institutions  of  the  South  by  force,  fraud  and  secret  com- 
binations. In  conclusion  he  exclaimed,  "  goad  them ! — 
goad  them ! — out  of  the  Union,  is  my  motto." 

''  That  is  the  true  policy,"  replied  Hiram  Pike.  ''  The 
train  is  already  laid,  and  will  be  exploded  by  the  approach- 
ing Presidential  election." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  Hiram  arose  to  his  feet,  when 
his  eyes  fell  on  the  faces  of  the  two  young  men  from 
Kashville.     He  stood  a  moment  as  if  surprised  in  a  base 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  19 

act,  no  doubt  fearing  an  unpleasant  exposure,  then  spoke 
a  few  words  to  the  parson  in  a  low  tone,  after  which  they 
walked  out  of  the  room,  leaving  Edward  and  Graham  in 
peaceable  possession  of  the  premises. 

Such  was  the  origin  of  the  late  civil  war.  Such  was 
the  bitter,  hostile,  and  implacable  spirit — such  the  sectional 
hate,  malice,  and  ill-will— such  the  dark,  infamous  and 
unprincipled  measures  adopted  by  Northern  fanatics  at  this 
early  period — for  the  purpose  of  dissolving  the  Union,  in 
order  that  the  institution  of  slavery  might  be  abolished. 
It  mattered  not  to  these  madmen — these  monomaniacs 
wedded  to  one  idea — if  the  whole  land  should  be  deluged 
in  human  blood — if  civil  and  religious  liberty  should  be 
staked  and  perhaps  lost  forever — if  they  could  thereby  ac- 
complish their  vile,  wicked  and  mischievous  purposes. 
They  were  willing  to  exchange  the  boon  of  freedom  for 
an  abstract  idea — barter  constitutional  liberty  for  military 
despotism,  and  sell  this  rich  inheritance  bequeathed  to  us 
by  our  fathers  for  a. mess  of  pottage^  provided  they  could 
thereby  establish  negro  equality. 

On  the  succeeding  morning,  when  these  two  young  men 
entered  the  coach  for  Maryville  College,  they  found  that 
the  Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton  had  preceded  them,  and  sat 
with  an  Abolition  journal,  reading  one  of  Theodore 
Parker's  bitter  tirades  against  the  Southern  people — but 
on  their  entrance  he  carefully  folded  it  up  and  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket  for  future  reference. 

Another  party  now  entered  the  stage  coach,  who  is  des- 
tined to  act  an  important  part  in  our  story.  He  was  a 
little  under  a  medium  height,  well  built  and  muscular.  He 
was  probably  about  thirty  years  of  age,  and  wore  a  plain 
ordinary  suit  of  gray  cassimere.  He  possessed  a  round 
face,  a  full  forehead,  and  dark  hair.  A  comical  expression 
lurked  about  his  good-humored  countenance,  and  when  he 
spoke,  the  peculiar  brogue  of  Green  Erin's  Isle  might  have 
been  detected.  Such  was  Patrick  Megram,  an  Irishman 
by  birth,  but  now  residing  in  the  new  world. 


20  THE  SUNNY  LAND) 

The  Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton  was  in  every  way  a  represen- 
tative man  of  his  class.  lie  was  exceedingly  inquisitive, 
and  extremely  radical — a  pure  New  Englander  of  the 
modern  galvanized,  puritanical,  free  thinking  stock.  He 
was  full  of  ideas  common  to  his  own  region — ever  ready  to 
pry  into  other  people's  business,  and  to  force  his  distasteful 
dogmas  down  every  person's  throat  who  did  not  willingly 
swallow  the  nauseating  dose. 

He  believed  that  John  Brown  was  a  persecuted  saint, 
who  died  for  "righteousness  sake,"  and  imagined  that  his 
departed  soul  had  been  admitted  to  one  of  the  highest 
seats  of  Paradise.  He  was  confident  that  slave-holders 
were  beyond  the  reach  of  pardoning  mercy,  and  held  that 
they  were  all  justly  doomed  to  eternal  perdition. 

He  was  also  a  politician  of  a  small  calibre,  but  he  made 
nj)  in  zeal,  what  he  lacked  in  knowledge.  He  had  often  ha- 
rangued his  little  anti-slavery  flock  on  the  mongrel  doctrines 
of  negro  equality,  and  pointed  out  to  them  the  wickedness 
of  Southern  slavery,  which  he  considered  the  only  sin  in 
the  land  worthy  of  his  attention.  He  never  failed,  in 
opening  the  morning  service  in  his  church,  to  pray  that 
the  equality  of  races  might  be  recognized,  and  to  ask  the 
Lord  "  to  break  the  poor  captives'  chains  and  let  the  African 
go  free." 

The  stage  had  not  proceeded  far  when  the  parson  fixed 
his  eyes  on  Patrick  Megram,  and  finally  said : 

"Bound  for  Maryville  ?" 

"  Montvale,'^  replied  the  Irishman. 

"  From  the  old  country  ?  " 

"Swate  Ireland,"  he  replied,  in  his  native  brogue. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  in  America  ?" 

"  Several  years,  your  honor,"  with  a  comical  gesture. 

"You  live  in  this  State?" 

"  I  have  for  the  last  twenty-four  hours,"  said  Pat. 

'^  What  is  your  trade  ?  " 

"  Everything.  I  can  do  anything  from  ditching  to  writ- 
ing a  love  letter." 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  21 

"  What  part  of  the  country  are  you  from  ? " 

"  Cincinnati." 

"  Did  you  settle  there  when  you  first  came  to  America?  " 

"  No,  sir.  I  landed  at  Boston,  the  last  place  on  earth 
for  a  white  man." 

"Then  went  to  Cincinnati?"  continued  the  parson. 

"  I  did,  and  found  it  slightly  better  than  Boston." 

"  So  you  are  on  your  way  to  Montvale  ?  " 

"  I  am  bound  for  that  place." 

"For  your  health?" 

"  For  employment." 

"  There  is  not  much  chance  for  laborers  in  the  South," 
said  the  parson,  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  wages  were  much 
higher  in  every  portion  of  it,  than  in  his  native  State. 

It  was  evident  to  all  that  this  Irishman  was  no  simple- 
ton. The  language  he  used  was  good  with  the  exception 
of  an  occasional  phrase  peculiar  to  his  race.  He  bore  the 
parson's  critical  examination  with  great  composure,  and 
seemed  somewhat  amused  at  the  mode  of  cross-examina- 
tion pursued.  He  now  replied  to  these  interminable  se- 
ries of  questions  in  a  comical  style  which  soon  silenced  the 
inquisitive  parson. 

The  Eev.  vStanton  next  catechised  the  two  remaining 
passengers  to  his  own  satisfaction,  and  then  introduced  va- 
rious questions  of  a  civil,  political,  and  religious  nature. 
Graham  Hardee  endeavored  to  avoid  a  discussion,  but  they 
soon  joined  issue  on  the  higher  law,  which  the  parson 
maintained  to  be  of  more  authority  than  Divine  revelation. 
They  finally  wandered  from  this  point  to  the  equality  of 
races. 

"  We  are  all  of  one  blood,"  said  the  parson ;  "  and  the  only 
superiority  we  possess  over  the  African  arises  from  mental 
culture." 

"  What  about  the  complexion  ?  "  asked  Graham. 

"  Only  the  result  of  the  burning  sun." 

"  This  does  not  explain  the  mental  and  physical  differ" 
ences  we  know  to  exist." 


22 


THE   SUNNY  LAND; 


"  How  do  you  say  these  origiDated  ?  "  asked  the  parson. 

"  I  see  the  fact,"  replied  Graham,  "  and  do  not  consider 
the  cause  material.  It  has  been  asserted  that  our  first 
parents  were  a  bright  olive  color,  and  all  the  human 
race  the  same  until  the  flood — that  Noah  had  three  sons, 
Ham,  Shem,  and  Japheth,  whose  names  signify  black,  red, 
and  white — and  that  the  curse  and  the  blessing  pronounced 
on  them  respectively  were,  in  the  nature  of  a  prophecy, 
foretelling  the  future  condition  of  their  descendants  in  all 
ages,  which  is  now  being  literally  fulfilled,  but  it  is  useless 
to  puzzle  our  brains  in  order  to  discover  the  origin  of  a 
well  known  fact,  which  any  unprejudiced  observer  must 
admit.  Even  the  history  of  the  curly-headed  race  proves 
them  much  inferior  to  our  own.  They  have  ever  been  a 
low,  dull  and  besotted  people,  unable  to  rise  in  the  scale  of 
civilization." 

"  They  are  our  equals,  and  only  require  mental  culture," 
continued  the  parson,  vehemently. 

"  You  have  had  free  Africans,"  said  Graham,  "  in  the 
Northern  States  for  a  long  period.  They  have  had  every 
opportunity  to  learn  from  the  white  race  and  to  make 
their  mark  in  the  world.  Amongst  them  there  is  not  one, 
except  a  few  of  the  mixed  blood,  that  possess  even  ordina- 
ry intellectual  ability." 

"  It  is  unjust  to  hold  a  man  in  bondage  and  have  the 
benefit  of  his  labor  without  compensation,"  said  the  parson, 
dodging  the  question. 

"  This  world  is  full  of  injustice,"  replied  Graham.  "  Men 
of  capital  will  be  served  by  either  white  or  black,  at  the 
least  possible  expense.  Here  money  is  invested  in  labor 
and  wages  are  upheld,  but  in  the  free  States  there  is  a  con- 
stant conflict  between  capital  and  labor.  Those  that 
control  the  capital  usually  gain  the  ascendency,  and  crush 
the  poor  man  in  the  dust,  as  they  have  done  in  Europe, 
and  are  beginning  to  do  in  the  New  England  States.  There 
the  unfortunate  are  held  in  a  servile  bondage  by  stern  ne- 
cessity, and   are  often  unable  to  obtain  food  and  raiment. 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  23 

They  are  oppressed,  degraded  and  reduced  to  a  fearful 
condition,  worse  than  our  slaves,  which  were  stolen  from 
Africa  by  your  money-loving  fathers." 

"  The  shocking  barbarity  of  slavery,"  exclaimed  the  par- 
son, with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders. 

''  All  kinds  of  servitude  and  every  relation  of  life  is 
sometimes  abused,"  replied  Graham. 

"  They  should  be  set  free  without  delay,"  said  the  par- 
son. 

"  They  are  a  worthless  race,"  replied  Graham,  "  and  if 
the  Southern  people  could  be  refunded  the  money  invested, 
they  could  well  afford  to  set  them  free —  provided  they 
were  sent  out  of  the  country.  They  must  not  be  turned 
loose  in  our  midst.  England  and  France  ruined  their 
fairest  possessions  in  the  West  India  Islands  by  attempting 
this  wild  experiment.  The  two  races  cannot  live  together 
as  equals.  A  conflict  w^ould  soon  spring  up  between  them, 
which  would  finally  result  in  a  war  of  extermination." 

The  parson  became  more  and  more  excited.  He  talked 
long  and  loud  of  an  oppressed  people,  and  held  up  his 
hands  in  pious  horror  at  what  he  was  pleased  to  call  the 
cruelty  of  the  Southern  people.  He  finally  became  angry 
and  declared  the  day  would  soon  come  when  the  Lord 
would  visit  the  South  with  fire  and  sword. 

"  The  Yankees  instead  of  the  Lord,"  said  Patrick  Me- 
gram,  in  an  under  tone. 

"  He  will  break  their  yoke  and  lead  them  away,"  con- 
tinued the  parson. 

"  The  cowardly  spalpeens  will  steal  them,"  added  the 
Irishman,  quietly. 

This  discussion  was  here  cut  short  by  their  reaching  the 
end  of  their  journey,  when  the  Eev.  Stanton  bade  his 
fellow-travellers  adieu,  never  expecting  to  meet  them  again. 
Neither  of  these  parties  then  suspected  how  often  they 
would  cross  each  others  paths  in  future  years. 

Maryville  College  was  located  in  a  small  village,  perhaps 
remarkable  for  nothing  except  its  institutions  of  learning. 


24  THE    SUNNY   LAND) 

Through  a  long  series  of  years  it  had  sent  forth  a  continual 
stream  of  graduates,  some  of  whom  had  occupied  high  po- 
sitions in  society. 

Unfortunately  the  able  faculty  of  this  College  had  long 
been  tainted  with  Abolitionism.  ^Notwithstanding  it  was 
entirely  dependent  on  the  Southern  States  for  patronage, 
still  some  teachers  had  long  been  retained  in  it  who  held 
these  odious  views,  and  so  far  as  possible  implanted  them 
in  the  minds  of  the  students.  The  young  men  went  out 
into  the  world  and  disseminated  these  vile  doctrines.  To 
this  cause,  more  than  any  other,  ma}''  be  traced  the  anti- 
slavery  sentiments  existing  in  East  Tennessee  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  recent  war,  which  finally  led  to  discord, 
dissensions,  and  a  bloody  civil  contest  through  this  moun- 
tainous region. 

We  will  not  attempt  to  follow  these  two  young  men 
during  the  three  days  they  remained  at  this  ancient  seat 
of  learning.  Graham  passed  the  hours  quietly,  and  Edward 
found  much  pleasure  in  calling  on  acquaintances,  greeting 
old  friends,  and  visiting  familiar  scenes  never  to  be 
forgotten. 

One  evening  they  listened  to  a  public  debate  on  the  pro- 
posed secession  of  the  Southern  States  in  the  event  the 
Eepublican  nominee  for  President  should  be  elected.  The 
discussion  proved  animating  and  exciting.  The  horrors 
of  civil  war  were  portrayed  in  eloquent  language,  but 
perhaps  no  one  present  believed  that  they  were  then  on  the 
eve  of  that  terrible  struggle  when  that  beautiful  village 
would  be  burned — when^that  institution  of  learning  would 
be  destroyed,  and  the  whole  country  devastated  by  con- 
tending armies.  Only  a  few  months  more  had  passed 
away  when  the  bloody  conflict  was  inaugurated.  The 
prediction  was  soon  verified  that  those  present  would 
shortly  hear 

"  The  death  shot  hissing  from  afar, 

The  shock — the  shout — the  groan  of  war." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  25 


CHAPTEK     lY. 

The  Belle  of  the  Mountains. 

"  You  deaire  employment/'  said  Edward  Ashton,  address- 
ing Patrick  Megram. 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  Irishman: 

"  Can  you  drive  a  carriage  ?  '^ 

"  Try  me,''  was  Pat's  laconic  reply. 

•'We  intend  to  make  a  journey  into  North  Carolina, 
over  a  rough  road,  for  which  we  have  secured  a  couple  of 
good  horses  and  a  strong  carriage.  We  did  not  intend  to 
employ  a  driver,  but  perhaps,  we  may  conclude  to  do  so." 

"  I  am  your  man,"  replied  Pat,  with  much  emphasis. 

"  What  has  heretofore  been  your  business  ?  " 

"Jack  of  all  trades,"  he  replied.  "I  first  landed  at  Bos- 
ton where  a  Yankee  hired  me  to  do  a  little  of  everything." 

*'Did  you  please  that  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Och  no  !  I  was  a  free  born  Irishman  and  wouldn't  be 
a  nager.  He  wanted  me  to  stand  with  my  hat  under  my 
arm,  which  didn't  suit  my  fancy.  So  we  parted  for  good. 
I  tried  to  get  another  situation,  but  failed  because  I  had 
no  recommendation.  The  heathenites  they  are ;  they 
treat  a  white  man  worse  than  a  nager." 

"  You  got  another  situation  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  found  a  Yankee,  who  said  he  only  wanted  me 
to  do  light  work.  Such  work,"  added  Pat,  with  a  rueful  face, 
"  he  worked  me  half  to  death,  grumbled  and  growled,  until 
one  day  I  accidentally  planted  my  fist  between  his  eyes 
and  left  him  bellowing  like  a  dying  calf  in  its  last  agony." 
2 


26  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

'•  I  then  set  out  for  Ohio,"  he  continued,  "  and  stopped 
in  the  country.  Here  I  worked  for  an  old  codger  for  six 
months,  when  he  chated  me  out  of  half  my  wages.  I 
then  went  to  Cincinnati  and  got  a  situation  at  the  Spencer 
House,  where  I  followed  lifting  trjinks  about  the  size  of 
an  ordinary  schooner.  A  few  weeks  afterward,  I  met  with 
a  rich  gentleman  who  said  he  wanted  me  for  his  confiden- 
tial servant.     His  name  was  Hiram  Pike." 

"Hiram  Pike,"  rej)eated  Edward,  with  surprise. 

"  That  was  his  name." 

"  You  liked  him  ?  " 

"  As  a  blubbering  brat  loves  a  flogging." 

Edward  now  told  the  Irishman  to  come  to  their  room 
that  afternoon,  and  left  him  alone  to  his  reflections. 

He  was  prompt  at  the  aj^pointed  hour,  and  engaged  to 
accompany  them  on  the  proposed  journey  into  Korth  Car- 
olina. 

Edward  and  his  friend  had  been  invited  to  a  party  which 
they  designed  attending  before  leaving  ]\Iaryville  College, 
but  as  one  night  would  intervene  before  the  appointed 
time,  they  concluded  that  they  would  try  their  horses,  by 
making  a  trip  to  Montvale  Springs,  a  well  known  summer 
resort,  only  nine  miles  from  this  place. 

They  accordingly  set  out  early  in  the  morning,  travel- 
ling through  a  broken  region,  and  soon  reached  "  the  foun- 
tain of  health/'  located  at  the  foot  of  the  Chilhowee  moun- 
tains. 

Montvale  was  finely  improved,  and,  at  a  distance,  pre- 
sented the  appearance  of  a  neat  village,  in  the  centre  of 
which  was  one  mammoth  hotel. 

The  enclosure  around  these  buildings,  embracing  many 
acres,  was  laid  ofl^  in  walks  and  roads  like  an  extensive 
city  park,  and  the  whole  space  between  each  division  was 
covered  with  luxuriant  grass,  flowers,  shrubs,  and  shade 
trees,  of  every  variety,  common  to  this  mountainous  re- 
gion. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  27 

Here  they  found  a  gay  throng  of  people,  representing 
almost  every  State  in  the  South,  who  were  spending  a  few 
weeks  of  the  sultry  summer  in  this  cool  retreat.  Some 
had  left  home  to  escape  the  heated  atmosphere  of  the  Gulf 
States;  some  were  here  on  account  of  the  valuable  medici- 
nal properties  of  the  water,  but  probably  far  more  were  in 
search  of  amusement  and  recreation.  Who  could  blame 
them  for  seekino;  these  refreshino;  shades  when  the  ther- 
mometer  ranged  at  about  ninety-eight  degrees  —  when  the 
sun  was  pouring  down  his  intense  rays  as  if  concentrated 
in  one  burning  focus,  when  every  one  might  have  realized 
the  well  known  lines  of  Thompson, 

"  Now  comes  the  glory  in  the  Summer  months 
With  light  and  heat  refulgent." 

As  soon  as  the  shades  of  evening  began  to  gather  around 
Montvale  a  large  number  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  dressed 
in  the  most  approved  style,  made  their  appearance.  As 
the  last  rays  of  the  setting  sun  rested  on  the  neighboring 
mountain,  they  were  promenading  in  every  direction  smi- 
ling, talking  and  laughing  as  if  strangers  to  the  cares  and 
vexations  of  life. 

Edward  and  his  friend  did  not  recognize  among  them  a 
single  familiar  face,  and  notwithstanding  they  were  yet  in 
their  native  State  they  felt  as  strangers  in  a  strange  land. 
At  a  later  hour  the  ball  room  was  thrown  open,  to  which 
they  soon  afterwards  repaired,  but  they  could  find  no  ac- 
quaintance mingling  in  the  mazes  of  the  fascinating  dance. 
They  watched  this  scene  of  animated  beauty  and  listened 
to  the  strains  of  soul-stirring  music  until  they  grew  weary 
of  the  enchantment. 

That  night  they  debated  whether  they  would  return  to 
Maryville  on  the  following  morning  or  remain  until  the 
afternoon  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  the  neighboring 
heights  of  the  Chilhowee  Mountains,  from  which  they 
could  have  a  splendid  view  of  the  adjacent  country. 
Graham  was  perfectly  indifi'erent  as  to  how  they  should 


28  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

employ  themselves  during  the  coming  day,  and  Edward 
was  already  weary  of  the  gay  throng  of  strangers  whom 
he  never  expected  to  meet  again.  He  loved  to  see  nature 
in  all  her  matchless  beauty,  but  he  knew  it  would  re- 
quire  considerable  labor  to  ascend  the  mountain,  and  as 
the  heat  would  probably  be  oppressive,  he  was  inclined 
to  forego  the  pleasure.  It  is,  indeed,  wonderful  to  ob- 
serve what  trifling  incidents  sometimes  change  the  whole 
current  of  our  lives,  and  prove  the  origin  of  much  hap- 
piness or  misery.  Edward  knew  not  when  he  was  con- 
sidering the  propriety  of  remaining  a  few  hours  longer 
at  Montvale,  how  much  depended  on  this  decision,  nor 
how  deep  it  would  affect  the  remainder  of  his  life. 

They  finally  concluded  to  ascend  the  mountain,  and  ear- 
ly on  the  following  morning  they  set  out  on  the  proposed 
journey,  taking  with  them  Patrick  Megram,  who  was  ex- 
pected at  least,  to  furnish  some  amusement. 

They  began  the  ascent  in  high  glee  and  were  making 
rapid  progress  up  the  side  of  the  mountain,  when  Patrick 
Megram,  who  was  a  little  in  advance,  suddenly  halted,  and 
then  stooped  down,  as  if  making  a  critical  examination  of 
some  incomprehensible  object.  A  moment  afterward  he 
exclaimed  — 

"Howly  Saint  Peter!  The  plague  take  your  black 
musky  skin,  curled  up  like  a  hemp-rope.  Look  at  that  sar- 
pent,  with  wide  spread  jaws  —  the  green  eyed " 

Here  Pat's  words  were  cut  short,  and  he  sprang  high 
into  the  air,  in  order  to  avoid  the  fangs  of  a  rattlesnake. 
He  was  ignorant  of  their  mode  of  striking,  and  did  not 
apprehend  any  danger  would  arise  from  the  lazy,  motion- 
less serpent,  until  it  opened  its  mouth  and  sprang  towards 
him  with  the  usual  rattle. 

"A  jumping  snake,"  said  Pat,  standing  at  a  respectful 
distance,  "  with  bells  on  the  tail  —  full  of  tricks  —  a  regu- 
lar down  Easter  —  a  live  Yankee  —  that  won't  fight  a  fair 
fight." 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  29 

Edward  and  Graham  now  came  forward  and  found  a 
large  rattlesnake,  which  they  instantly  dispatched,  to  the 
Irishman's  great  satisfaction. 

They  all  set  out  again  and  soon  arrived  at  the  desired 
locality,  a  vast  ledge  of  rocks  on  the  summit  of  the  moun- 
tain, from  which  point  they  had  a  magnificent  view  of  the 
surrounding  landscape.  Beneath  their  feet  lay  the  splen- 
did improvements  at  Montvale  Springs,  and  near  it  they 
could  perceive  a  sparkling  stream  which  seemed  to  gush 
from  the  mountain  side,  and  then  go  meandering  through 
a  fertile  valley,  lined  with  verdant  gardens,  then  clothed 
in  the  rich  robes  of  summer.  Farms,  farm  houses  and 
luxuriant  fields,  dotted  the  wide  spread  region  as  far  as 
human  eye  could  reach.  A  few  miles  to  the  South  they 
could  see  the  majestic  Tennessee  river,  where  it  burst 
through  the  mountains  on  which  they  stood,  and  then 
rolled  on  through  rich  and  variegated  landscapes.  In  the 
distance  they  could  observe  the  chain  of  hills  which  marked 
the  course  of  the  Holston  river,  and  beyond  these  arose 
the  blue  heads  of  the  Cumberland  mountains. 

Edward  dearly  loved  to  view  the  works  of  nature.     He 

gazed  with  wonder  and  admiration  on  this  magnificent 

panorama.     He  was  entranced  with  this  lovely  prospect. 

He  seemed  to  have  invoked  all  the  power  of  the  ideal,  and 

clothed  these  rich  scenery  of  nature  in  the  gaudy  imagery 

of  a  lofty  imagination. 

*'  Who  can  paint 
Like  nature  ?  can  imagination  boast 
Amid  its  gay  creation,  hues  like  hers? 
Or  can  it  mix  with  that  matchless  skill." 

Again  he  turned  to  the  South  where  he  beheld  a  vast 
bed  of  mountains,  presenting  a  scene  full  of  grandeur 
and  sublimity.  Here  one  rugged  peak  towered  in  magnifi- 
cence above  another,  and  high  above  them  all  he  could 
perceive  the  "Blue  Smoky" — the  boundary  line  between 
two  great  States,  whose  majestic  summit  wreathed  in  mis- 
ty clouds,  seemed  to  pierce  the  heavens. 


30  THE    SUNNY  LAND; 

A  company  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  evidently  visitors 
from  Montvale,  now  aj^proached  the  ledge  of  rocks  on 
which  these  two  young  men  were  seated. 

"How  beautiful!  "  said  Edward,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
a  young  lady  walking  in  advance  of  her  companions. 

It  is  imj^ossible  to  give  an  adequate  description  of  the 

fair  creature' who  called  forth  these  words.     She  did  not 

appear  to  have  passed  her  sixteenth  summer,  and  was  a 

perfect  model  of  feminine  beauty. 

"  Grace  was  in  her  step,  heaven  ia  her  eye, 
And  in  every  gesture  dignity  and  love." 

If  you  please,  picture  in  your  imagination  the  loveliest 
of  her  sex  —  one  of  the  fairest  flowers  of  the  sunny  South 
—  with  dark  hair,  flowing  in  graceful  ringlets  —  with 
rosy  cheeks  then  slightly  flushed  with  exercise  —  with 
dark  melting  eyes,  peculiar  to  that  genial  clime,  sparkling 
with  intelligence,  with  a  form  as  perfect  as  the  model 
"  Greek  Slave,"  with  every  feminine  charm  calculated  to 
captivate  the  heart  of  man,  and  then  you  may  imperfectly 
sketch  the  lovely  creature  who  called  forth  the  exclama- 
tion— "how  beautiful." 

The  advancing  group  halted  some  yards  from  our  two 
friends,  but  this  young  lady,  apparently  not  satisfied  with 
the  view  from  this  position,  walked  on  up  the  mountain 
and  stood  alone,  evidently  fascinated  with  the  loveliness 
of  the  distant  landscapes  and  grandeur  of  the  surrounding 
scenery.  After  a  few  moments  her  eyes  fell  on  these 
young  men,  when,  like  a  startled  deer,  she  began  to  re- 
trace her  steps. 

*'Who  can  it  be?  "  said  Edward,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  cannot  imagine,"  replied  Graham. 

"  A  lovely  creature,"  continued  Edward. 

"  As  fair  as  the  '  belle  of  two  cities.' " 

'■'  She  is  the  '  belle  of  the  mountains,' "  exclaimed  Ed- 
ward. 

"An  excellent  name,"  replied  Graham. 

This  young  lady  walked   some  distance  towards   her 


A   STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  31 

friends,  then  turned  to  the  edge  of  the  huge  mass  of  rocks 
for  the  purpose  of  gathering  some  wild  flowers  which  over- 
hung a  fearful  chasm.  In  order  to  reach  these  she  step- 
ped on  a  stone  which  she  supposed  to  be  firmly  imbedded 
in  the  mountain  brow.  This  instantly  gave  way  and  went 
rolling,  thundering  and  crashing  down  the  abrupt  preci- 
pice, and  at  the  same  moment  this  fair  girl  disappeared 
from  the  view  of  those  above. 

All  rushed  to  the  fatal  spot  where  they  stood  appalled 
at  the  scene  they  witnessed.  She  had  fallen  a  considera- 
ble distance,  and  lodged  against  some  small  stunted  bushes 
overhanging  a  deep  abyss.  These  frail  shrubs  to  which 
she  was  clinging  for  life  were  liable  every  moment  to  give 
way,  when  she  would  be  inevitably  dashed  to  pieces  on 
the  rocks  far  beneath. 

There  was  no  mode  by  which  the  young  lady  could  be 
reached  unless  by  climbing  down  the  almost  perpendicular 
rock,  and  none  of  her  friends  appeared  willing  to  try  the 
hazardous  enterprise. 

Eopes,  poles,  ladders,  and  numberless  articles  not  to  be 
had,  were  suggested  to  the  minds  of  those  present.  Ed- 
ward saw  at  a  glance 'that  something  must  be  done  imme- 
diately, as  she  would  certainly  perish,  and  resolved  at  the 
imminent  risk  of  his  own  life  to  make  an  effort  to  save 
her  from  a  terrible  death.  Seizing  hold  of  a  bush  which 
overhung  the  cliff,  he  sprang  down  the  deep  chasm,  trust- 
ing that  he  could  sustain  himself  until  he  was  able  to 
plant  his  feet  on  some  rocks  beneath.  He  had  mistaken 
the  strength  of  this  frail  support  which  proved  brittle,  and 
instantly  gave  way.  It  was  all  in  vain  that  he  endeavor- 
ed to  stay  himself  against  the  almost  perpendicular  wall 
which  he  clinched  a  moment,  and  then,  after  a  brief  strug- 
gle to  avoid  a  terrible  fate,  fell  headlong  down  the  fearful 
precipice. 


32  THE  SUNNY  LAND  : 


CHAPTEE  y. 

A  Thunder  Storm  in  the  Mountains. 

A  cry  arose  from  those  above,  when  they  saw  Edward 
fall,  for  they  believed  that  he  was  lost  beyond  all  hope  of  re- 
covery;  but  he  did  not  reach  the  last  great  precipice  from 
whence  he  must  have  made  a  fearful  plunge  into  a  deep 
abyss.  Fortunately  he  struck  against  some  projecting 
rocks,  and  sprang  to  his  feet,  injured,  bruised,  and  bleed- 
ing. The  next  moment  he  dragged  the  lady  from  her  per- 
ilous position,  and  bore  her  fainting  form  up  the  crag- 
gy rocks,  until  he  came  to  a  point  beyond  which  he 
could  not  go.  Then  turning  across  the  cliff,  he  advanced 
a  short  distance  to  a  steep  bluff,  which  he  could  not  pass 
with  his  precious  burden. 

Patrick  Megram,  perhaps  the  least  excited  of  the  spec- 
tators, now  appeared  with  some  poles  to  bridge  the  re- 
maining chasm,  and  soon  afterward  Edward  bore  the  faint- 
ing "  Belle  of  the  Mountains  "  to  a  place  of  safety,  around 
which  gathered  a  large  number  of  individuals,  rejoicing 
that  she  had  made  such  a  narrow  escape  from  a  sudden 
death. 

Edward  had  been  injured  by  the  fall,  and  began  to  feel 
excessively  faint.  He  sat  down,  thinking  he  would  re- 
cover in  a  few  moments,  and  Graham,  who  did  not  supjDOse 
his  friend  to  be  seriously  injured,  now  turned  his  attention 
to  the  young  lady  who  lay  partially  unconscious.  He 
learned  that  no  one  present  knew  her  name,  and  that 
those  who  had  accompanied  her  were  then  absent.     Some 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  33 

one  exclaimed,  "here  they  come,"  and  on  looking  up  the 
hill,  he  saw  Hiram  Pike  and  a  middle  aged  lady  advanc- 
ing, evidently  much  alarmed  at  what  occurred.  They  had 
been  engaged  in  a  tete-a-tete  beyond  the  brow  of  the  hill, 
and  had  just  heard  of  the  accident. 

Graham  only  had  time  to  observe  that  the  aged  lady 
did  not  appear  to  be  the  mother  of  the  suffering  girl,  and 
to  notice  Pat  Megram  making  a  most  rueful  face  at  Hi- 
ram Pike,  when  his  attention  was  called  to  his  friend,  who 
asked  to  be  assisted  to  a  cool  spring,  which  he  had  seen  in 
a  deep  ravine  a  short  distance  below.  Supported  by  his 
friends,  Edward  succeeded  in  reaching  this  refreshing 
fountain,  and  thus  was  separated  from  the  "Belle  of  the' 
Mountains,"  before  she  had  sufficiently  recovered  to  recog- 
nize her  deliverer. 

When  Edward  had  somewhat  recovered,  Graham  said : 
^'  The  lady  you  rescued,  has  returned  to  Montvale." 

"  Who  is  she  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  We  could  not  ascertain  her  name." 

"  Did  you  not  hear  it,"  he  continued,  addressing  Patrick 
Megram. 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  he  said,  "and  every  soul  I  met  was 
asking  the  same  question."  And  then  added,  "  She  is  in 
bad  company,  I  would  say." 

"  Why  ?  "  asked  Edward  in  a  feeble  tone. 

"Didn't  ye  see  that  Yankee  spalpeen,  Hiram  Pike." 

"  I  did  not  notice  any  one,"  said  Edward. 

*'  You  might  have  seen  the  bandy-shanked  pafowl  strut- 
ting around  in  his  fine  clothes." 

"  You  know  him  well  ?  " 

"Know  him  like  a  book.  And  I  could  whisper  some- 
thing in  his  ear  that  would  make  him  look  like  a  shaking 
ghost." 

Edward  soon  felt  sufficiently  recovered  to  walk  back 
to   Montvale.       When    they  had   arrived   at   this   point, 
they  found  they  only  had  sufficient  time  to  reach  Mary- 
2* 


34  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

ville,  wh^re  they  had  promised  to  spend  the  evening,  so 
they  obtained  some  refreshments  without  delay,  and  tlien 
proceeded  on  their  journey  immediately.  "Farewell," 
thought  Edward,  "  forever  farewell  to  the  beautiful '  Belle 
of  the  Mountains.'  We  will  not  meet  again ;  but  her 
matchless  face  will  never  be  forgotten." 

They  arrived  at  Maryville,  spent  a  few  pleasant  hours 
with  their  social  friends,  and  on  the  succeeding  morning 
set  out  on  the  proposed  expedition.  They  first  travelled 
slowly  through  the  rural  districts  of  East  Tennessee,  en- 
joying the  romantic  scenery  they  everywhere  witnessed 
in  this  rugged  country.  Perhaps  no  two  young  men  wan- 
dering about  in  search  of  pleasure,  were  ever  better  satis- 
fied. Something  amusing  occurred  each  day  to  break  the 
monotony  of  their  journey,  and  at  times  when  they  were 
about  to  grow  dull,  Pat  was  sure  to  commit  some  blun- 
der of  a  most  ludicrous  character,  well  calculated  to  pro- 
voke mirth. 

They  finally  reached  the  great  bed  of  the  mountains, 
which  separates  East  Tennessee  and  Xorth  Carolina,  and 
were  now  following  the  French  Broad  Eiver —  a  majestic 
stream  which  flows  sweeping,  dashing,  and  foaming  amid 
these  everlasting  hills.  As  they  advanced  through  this 
broken  region,  they  found  the  road  upon  which  they  were 
travelling,  had  been  formed  in  many  places,  by  building  up 
stones  along  the  edge  of  the  water,  against  which  the  dirt 
and  sand  had  gradually  accumulated. 

One  day  they  came  to  the  wildest  and  yet  the  grandest 
scenery  they  had  ever  beheld.  The  fall  in  the  river  was 
immense,  and  its  waters  came  roaring,  foaming,  and  seeth- 
ing in  angry  whirlpools  over  eternal  beds  of  granite. 
On  either  side  arose  majestic  hills  to  a  dizzy  height,  pre- 
senting a  magnificent  spectacle,  such  as  the  poet  and  art- 
ist would  contemplate  with  inexpressible  delight.  They 
now  pursued  their  way  along  the  foot  of  a  towering  preci- 
pice where  the  road  had  been  hewn  through  a  solid  rock, 


A    STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  35 

and  here  the  mountain  arose  so  perpendicular  that  it  ac- 
tually seemed  to  overhang  their  heads.  All  along  its  un- 
even surface,  were  immense  beds  of  projecting  granite, 
wliich  assumed  every  fantastic  shape  and  hue  imaginable, 
apparently  the  work  of  nature  in  her  wildest  and  most 
whimsical  mood. 

They  followed  this  narrow  road  dug  out  of  the  side  of 
the  hill  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  for  some  distance,  when 
they  came  to  a  deep  gorge  in  the  mountain.  Here  they 
found  a  few  rods  of  level  land,  a  cool  refreshing  spring, 
and  alighted  to  rest  their  horses  and  partake  of  a  lunch 
with  which  they  were  provided.  They  had  only  time  to 
complete  their  repast,  when  their  attention  was  called  to 
an  approaching  carriage,  travelling  in  the  same  direction 
they  had  been  pursuing,  which  halted  a  nhort  distance 
from  where  they  were  seated,  and  an  aged  gentleman, 
presenting  a  venerable  appearance,  first  alighted  from  the 
vehicle,  followed  by  a  middle  aged  lady,  and  lastly  came  a 
beautiful  girl,  who  advanced  a  few  steps,  and  stood  gazing 
with  i^pture  on  the  matchless  glory  of  the  surrounding 
mountains. 

Edward  remained  motionless,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on 
that  lovely  young  lady,  then  in  the  first  bloom  of  youth, 
who  exercised  over  him  a  peculiar  and  resistless  charm. 
He  neither  saw  or  observed  any  thing  but  this  one  attrac- 
tive object  which  rivetted  every  power  and  faculty  of  his 
soul. 

"Edward,"  exclaimed  Graham,  but  his  voice  fell  on  list- 
less ears.  "  Edward,  I  say  Edward,"  he  continued,  but 
his  words  were  yet  unheeded.  Graham  smiled,  and  after 
a  few  moments  added :  "  Oh !  the  power,  the  fascination  of 
woman.  I  do  not  believe  you  could  at  present  see  a  moun- 
tain or  hear  an  earthquake." 

"It  is  the  'Belle  of  the  Mountains,'  "  said  Edward. 

"  All  right,"  said  Graham,  "  but  do  not  look  her  out  of 
countenance,"  and  immediately  he  broke  forth  into  a  fit  of 
laughter. 


36  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

"  A  perfect  angel,"  continued  Edward. 

*'  A  wild  mountain  dear^'  said  Graham,  much  amused. 

"  I  wish  I  had  an  introduction  to  that  fairy,"  exclaimed 
Edward. 

"  ISTonsense  !  perfect  nonsense,"  replied  his  companion. 
"  Go  and  tell  her  you  heroically  snatched  her  from  the 
jaws  of  the  grim  monster  death,  and  in  your  own  arms 
bore  her  to  a  place  of  safety.  Nothing  more  would  be 
needed,  for  that  was  certainly  a  very  close  acquaintance 
of  an  embracing  nature." 

"  She  would  not  recognize  me  as  the  same  person,"  said 
Edward  gravely. 

"  Then  you  might  accidentally  run  against  her,  or  acci- 
dentally cause  some  accident  to  occur,  for  which  you  must 
apologize,  then  commence  a  conversation.  Having  thus 
made  a  good  beginning,  stick  to  her  like  a  poor  man's 
plaster,  and  improve  the  opportunity." 

"  They  are  coming  to  this  spring,"  said  Edward,  excited 
with  pleasant  emotions. 

"  Don't  do  any  rash  act,"  continued  Graham  merrily, 
and  then  added,  "  I  will  not  let  them  disturb  your  repose." 

"  They  will  think  that  you  are  laughing  at  them,"  said 
Edward  in  a  reproving  tone. 

The  advancing  party  soon  reached  the  spring,  when 
Edward,  observing  they  had  left  their  cup  behind,  advan- 
ced and  tendered  them  one  with  which  he  was  provided. 
This  led  to  a  few  common  place  remarks,  and  this  young 
man  hoped  this  conversation  so  auspiciously  commenced, 
would  be  continued,  but  a  peal  of  thunder  from  a  cloud, 
partially  screened  from  view  by  the  neighboring  moun- 
tain, warned  them  that  a  storm  was  approaching. 

"  We  must  go,"  said  the  aged  gentleman.  '•'  It  would 
not  be  pleasant  to  be  overtaken  by  a  thunder  gust  such  as 
sometimes  occurs  in  this  wild  region." 

The  ladies  politely  thanked  Edward  for  his  kindness,  and 
entered  their  carriage,  which  immediately  set  out  towards 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  37 

the  Warm  Springs,  a  noted  watering  place  located  in  the 
mountains  of  Western  North  Carolina,  and  they  were 
soon  afterwards  followed  by  these  young  men,  who  wore 
also  travelling  in  the  same  direction. 

"  So  you  did  not  learn  any  thing  about  that  beauty," 
said  Graham.  "  When  strangers  meet  here  in  the  ultima 
thule  of  creation,  they  should  tell  their  names  and  con- 
sider themselves  acquainted,  and  any  one  failing  to  do  so, 
should  be  cross-examined  after  the  fashion  of  the  Rev. 
Obadiah  Stanton.  If  you  had  been  wise  you  would  have 
learned  a  lesson  from  that  pumping  old  Puritan  which  would 
have  enabled  you  to  gain  all  the  desired  information. 

Edward  who  was  not  in  a  talkative  mood,  replied  in  mono- 
syllables, and  they  both  became  silent.  They  were  now 
travelling  along  a  narrow  road,  sometimes  down  at  the 
brink  «f  the  river,  and  then  again  gradually  winding  up 
the  summits  of  the  rugged  hills. 

The  storm  continued  to  approach.  The  air  was  dark- 
ened by  black  tempestuous  clouds.  Thick  mists  were 
curling  along  the  brow  of  the  mountain.  The  lightnings 
flashed  and  the  thunder  burst  forth  in  deafening  peals. 
The  fearful  tempest  threatened  every  moment  to  break 
forth  in  all  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  peculiar  to  the  sun- 
ny South.  Edward  gazed  on  these  warring  elements  a 
few  moments,  and  then  repeated  the  well  known  lines  of 
Byron  : 

"  Leaps  the  live  thunder  ;  not  from  one  lone  cloud, 
But  every  mountain  now  hath  found  a  tongue, 
And  Jura  answers  through  her  misty  shroud, 
Back  to  joyous  Alps,  who  calls  to  her  aloud." 

Here  he  was  interrupted  by  the  echoing  thunders  which 

broke  forth  with  redoubled  fury,  but  after  a  few  moments 

he  continued  : 

*'  Hark  !  hark  !  deep  sounds,  and  deeper  still, 
Are  howling  from  the  mountain's  bosom  : 
There's  not  a  breath  of  wind  upon  the  hill, 
Yet  quivers  every  leaf  and  droops  every  blossom, 
Earth  groans  as  if  beneath  a  heavy  load." 


38  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

Then  came  a  blinding  flash  of  lightning  and  a  deafen- 
ing peal  of  thunder  which  caused  the  mountains  to  quake 
and  tremble.  The  horses  made  a  sudden  plunge  forward, 
and  G-raham  fearing  that  Patrick  Megram  could  not  man- 
age them,  took  the  reins  and  checked  them  in  a  few  mo- 
ments. At  the  same  time  Edward  discovered  that  it  was 
with  great  difficulty  the  driver  of  the  carriage,  then  a  few 
paces  in  front,  could  control  his  frightened  animals. 

They  were  now  on  a  narrow  road,  high  up  on  the  moun- 
tain side,  winding  around  a  dizzy  precipice  where,  if  over- 
turned, they  must  inevitably  be  tumbled  into  the  French 
Broad  River,  whose  angry  waters  rolled  far  beneath.  At 
the  same  moment  they  reached  the  most  elevated  point, 
there  came  a  sharp  flash  of  lightning,  and  the  two  horses 
dashed  forward  in  spite  of  check  lines,  throwing  the 
wheels  of  the  carriage  on  the  brink  of  the  fearfu^abyss. 
The  driver  was  able  to  partially  check  these  frantic 
animals,  which  began  rearing  and  prancing  near  the  edge 
of  the  embankment.  Edward  saw  that  in  a  few  moments 
more  the  carriage,  horses,  and  strangers  Avould  be  over- 
turned on  this  dizzy  height,  where  they  could  not  hope  to 
escape  from  immediate  death.  He  instantly  sprang  down, 
leaving  G-raham  and  Pat  behind,  rushed  forward,  seized 
the  reins  and  turned  the  horses  away  from  the  deep  abyss, 
in  time  to  save  them  all  from  destruction. 

The  winds  burst  forth  with  intense  fury.  The  fright- 
ened inmates  alighted,  and  the  restless  horses  were  re- 
moved. The  storm  was  now  so  fierce  that  the  vehicle  was 
in  great  danger  of  being  blown  over,  and  to  increase  their 
perplexity,  the  rain  began  to  descend.  Edward,  aided  by 
the  driver,  pushed  the  carriage  forward  under  the  shelter 
of  some  projecting  rocks,  which  would  shield  it  from  the 
furious  winds,  and  then  assisted  the  strangers  to  re-enter 
it,  so  they  might  be  protected  from  the  fury  of  the  ele- 
ments. The  roar  of  the  tempest  was  so  great  that  he 
could  not  hear  their  thanks,  but  the  look  of  gratitude 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  39 

which  the  "Belle  of  the  Mountains"  bestowed  on  him  as 
he  assisted  her  back  to  her  seat,  was  sufficient  to  repay 
him  for  all  his  labors. 

Graham  drew  up  under  the  same  shelter,  and  halted  in 
the  rear  of  the  strangers,  and  Edward  now  had  time  to  ob- 
serve the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  a  thunder  storm  in 
the  mountains.  The  rain  poured  down  in  torrents.  They 
seemed  to  be  enveloped  in  impenetrable  clouds,  where  the 
lightnings  flashed  and  the  thunders  rolled  unceasingly, 
whilst  the  furious  winds  increased  the  wild  uproar  of  the 
warring  elements.  The  tempest  long  continued  to  rage 
with  inimitable  grandeur,  and  so  great  was  the  noise,  Ed- 
ward could  not  converse  with  the  strangers.  When  the 
storm  had  in  some  degree  abated,  he  observed  that  the 
driver  was  endeavorino;  to  a2:ain  harness  the  horses  to  the 
carriage,  and  seeing  that  he  could  not  manage  them  him- 
self, he  went  forward  and  held  them  with  a  firm  hand, 
until  the  traces  had  been  fastened. 

He  naturally  supposed  that  these  strangers  were  bound 
for  the  "  Warm  Springs,"  the  nearest  point  on  that  road 
where  they  could  obtain  a  night's  lodging ;  but  so  great 
was  his  desire  to  know  who  they  were,  and  where  they 
resided,  he  would  have  asked  some  questions,  but  he  had 
no  opportunity^  to  do  so,  for  the  driver  instantly  sprang  up 
to  his  seat,  and  the  wild  impatient  steeds  dashed  away. 
At  the  same  time  the  face  of  the  aged  gentleman  appear- 
ed at  the  window  of  the  carriage,  but  Edward  could  not 
hear  his  words,  thanking  him  for  his  timely  assistance. 
Another  face  —  a  face  wearing  a  sweet  smile  —  a  face 
never  to  be  forgotten,  was  likewise  presented.  Her  lips 
moved,  but  her  voice  was  drowned  by  the  rattle  of  the 
wheels. 

The  young  men  followed  soon  afterwards,  but  saw 
nothing  more  of  the  strangers.  They  finally  reached  the 
Warm  Springs,  but  did  not  find  them  at  that  place.     Ed- 


40  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

ward  began  to  think  that  the  fates  were  aganst  him,  and 
that  he  mi^ht  never  acj-ain  behold  "the  Belle  of  the  Moun- 
tains."  "  She  is  yet  an  unknown  and  nameless  beauty," 
he  murmured,  "  who  smiled  on  me  a  moment,  and  now  per- 
haps has  disap2)eared  forever." 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  41 


CHAPTEK   YI. 

The  Young  Men  Arrive  at  their  Destination. 

Edward  and  Graham,  not  finding  the  strangers,  as  they 
had  expected,  walked  out  to  the  Warm  Sj)ring,  where  they 
saw  the  water  boiling  hot  from  the  earth. 

"  This  is  strange,"  said  Edward,  feeling  the  temperature 
of  the  water.     "  Can  you  account  for  it  ?" 

*'  Fire  under  it,"  replied  Graham,  with  a  smile. 

"  If  that  be  true,  this  must  be  a  dangerous  region." 

"  Geologists,"  said  Graham,  "  insist  that  the  centre  of 
the  earth  is  a  burning  mass  of  liquid  matter,  and  repre- 
sent that  the  ground  on  which  we  tread  is  a  thin  shell 
spread  over  it." 

"  Only  a  theory,"  replied  Edward,  "and  if  correct,  this 
shell  must  be  extremely  thin  in  this  neighborhood." 

Graham  now  seeing  Pat  walking  past,  called  him  to  the 
spring,  a  vast  pool  of  water,  over  which  a  bathing  house 
had  been  constructed. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  that,"  asked  Graham,  pointing 
to  the  smoking  water. 

Pat  surveyed  it  a  moment,  and  then  thrust  his  hand 
into  the  water. 

"  I  am  thinking,"  said  the  Irishman,  "  they  are  about 
ready  to  slaughter  their  hogs."  Then  walking  around 
the  building  with  evident  curiosity,  he  returned  and  ad- 
ded : 

*'  Faith  !  I  cannot  see  the  Furnace." 

"  It  boils  up  hot  out  of  the  ground,"  said  Edward. 


42  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"  Don't  I  know,"  said  Pat,  "  the  water  is  hated  in  that 
building." 

"  Indeed  ;  it  is  not." 

"  Fool !  Pat  Megram  if  you  can,"  continued  the  Irish- 
man, "with  the  idea  of  hot  water  biling  out  the  earth." 

They  left  Pat  searching  for  the  furnace,  and  returned 
to  the  hotel,  where  there  was  a  considerable  number  of 
visitors  from  various  parts  of  the  Union,  who  were  spend- 
ing a  few  weeks  at  this  place  for  health  or  pleasure. — 
Finding  that  all  were  strangers,  and  being  wearied  with 
their  journey,  they  retired  at  an  early  hour.  Graham 
soon  fell  into  a  sound  sleep,  but  Edward  was  not  so  fortu- 
nate, and  long  lay  awake,  musing  on  the  present,  past  and 
future.  The  happy  days  of  childhood,  pleasant  scenes  of 
youth  and  joys,  never  to  be  forgotten,  passed  in  review. 
Then  followed  his  first  troubles  —  the  death  of  his  parents 
—  the  loss  of  their  proj)erty,  and  decease  of  his  loved  sis- 
ter. Here  he  remembered,  with  some  bitterness,  the  trials 
he  had  endured  when  first  brought  into  contact  with  a 
cold  and  unfeeling  world,  especially  after  he  had  been  sud- 
denly reduced  from  affluence  to  poverty.  Then  came  the 
first  golden  dream  of  love,  when  Pennie  Eaymond  was 
the  idol  of  his  heart,  but  those  bright  visions  that  once 
enchanted  his  soul,  had  faded  forever,  as  the  passing  sum- 
mer cloud  disappears  from  the  heavens,  leaving  only  a 
faint  tinge  upon  the  sky.  Her  beauty  had  grown  dim  and 
her  once  loved  image  was  now  recalled  with  a  sad  mix- 
ture of  pleasure  and  pain. 

It  was  especially  the  adventures  of  the  past  day  that 
robbed  Edward  of  his  usual  rest.  A  new  image  had  ap- 
peared unbidden  in  his  breast,  and  his  excited  imagination 
now  painted  afresh  a  likeness  possessing  inexpressible 
charms.  Again  and  again  he  endeavored  to  drive  away 
the  enraptured  vision,  but  still  it  would  return  in  all  its 
matchless  beauty.  "  Why  ? "  he  mentally  exclaimed, 
"should  I  be  dreaming  of- that  lovely  creature  who  ac- 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  43 

cidentally  crossed  my  path.  I'  know  not  her  history, 
her  name,  from  whence  she  came,  or  where  she  is  gone. 
We  met  as  strangers  and  as  strangers  we  parted.  Should 
we  be  thrown  together  again,  and  should  she  prove  all 
that  heart  could  desire,  she  would  probably  be  nothing  to 
me."  Still  he  could  not  dismiss  the  subject.  Every  fea- 
ture of  her  smiling  face,  every  expression  of  her  sparkling 
eyes,  and  every  movement  of  her  matchless  form,  con- 
tinued to  pass  in  review.  Her  image  was  deeply  engraven 
on  his  mind,  and  he  could  not  avoid  the  fond  wish  that  he 
might  be  permitted  to  see  her  again  under  more  auspicious 
circumstances.  Finally  he  fell  asleep,  dreaming  of  the 
"  Belle  of  the  Mountains,"  and  knew  no  more  until  he 
heard  the  voice  of  his  friend  calling  on  him  to  arise  and 
prepare  for  their  intended  journey. 

These  young  men  set  out  again  early  in  the  morning, 
but  travelled  slowly  on  account  of  the  intense  heat  of  the 
day.  About  noon  they  desired  to  rest  their  wearied 
horses,  and  halted  in  a  dense  forest,  proposing  to  remain 
for  some  time  in  this  delightful  spot. 

Patrick  Megram  had  a  passion  for  walking  sticks,  and 
seeing  a  bush  growing  at  the  road  "side,  of  a  species  of  wood 
easily  polished,  he  cut  it  down  with  his  knife,  without 
having  observed  a  large  hornet's  nest  attached  to  its 
limbs. 

"  Jehosaphat !  "  exclaimed  Pat,  as  he  struck  both  hands 
to  his  forehead,  where  one  of  the  hornet's  had  buried  its 
poisonous  sting. 

"Jerusalem!"  continued  the  Irishman,  as  he  crushed 
another  that  had  alighted  on  his  ear.  "Howly  Saint 
Peter !  "  he  cried,  as  one  planted  its  venom  in  his  neck. 

"  Cuss  the  boss  flies,"  burst  forth  from  his  lips,  "  the 
villainous  insects  how  they  bite.  The  vile  spitfires,"  he 
yelled,  striking  right  and  left  at  the  swarming  hornets. 

Patrick  now  gathered  up  the  bush  he  had  cut  down, 
thinking  he  could  use  it  as  a  weapon  of  defence,  but  this 


44  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

only  brought  out  an  additional  force  of  hornets,  which 
threatened  to  completely  use  up  the  unfortunate  Irish- 
man. 

Edward  had  repeatedly  called  on  Pat  to  make  his  es- 
cape, but  he  was  not  a  running  character,  and  meant  to 
fight  it  out  with  his  unscrupulous  assailants,  "on  that  line, 
even  if  it  required  all  summer."  They  now  came  rather 
fast  for  the  poor  Irishman,  and  he  began  to  retreat,  final- 
ly leaving  the  enemy  in  peaceable  possession  of  the  field. 
They  immediately  proceeded  to  the  next  house,  where 
Bome  remedies  for  Pat's  numerous  stings  were  obtained, 
which  soon  assuaged  the  pain,  and  rendered  him  much 
more  comfortable. 

It  was  near  sunset  when  they  arrived  in  the  vicinity  of 
Ashville,  by  which  time  the  Irishman's  wounds  were  con- 
siderably swollen,  but  not  very  painful.  As  they  proceed- 
ed up  a  long  ascent,  they  found  a  negro  boy,  as  black  as 
ebony,  driving  some  cattle  in  the  same  direction  they  were 
travelling.  "  Whose  fields  are  these,"  asked  Graham,  point- 
ing to  some  finely  cultivated  lands. 

"  Dis,"  replied  the  boy,  "  be  Massa  Nick  TVoodfin's,"  and 
then  spreading  out  both  his  arms,  and  at  the  same  time 
displaying  a  considerable  amount  of  ivory,  he  continued, 
"  all  dem  fields  on  both  sides  be  his'n." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Graham,  "he  must  be  rich  as  a  Jew  ?'' 

"  He  am  dat." 

"  What  is  your  name,"  asked  Graham. 

"  Pomp  dey  call  me." 

"  Pomp  or  Pompey,  now  tell  me  who  belongs  to  you  ?  " 

"Massa  Nick  Woodfin,"  replied  ebony,  who  had  not  ob- 
served the  manner  the  question  had  been  stated,  which 
announcement  was  received  with  much  applause. 

Patrick  Megram  had  been  very  quiet  ever  since  his  con- 
flict with  the  hornets,  and  was  evidently  not  in  a  good 
humor.  He  had  not  spoken  for  a  long  time,  when  Gra- 
ham interrupted  his  reverie. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  45 

"  You  say,"  he  began,  "  that  you  were  once  in  the  ser- 
vice of  Hiram  Pike.  Did  you  find  him  a  clever  gentle- 
man ?" 

"  Whew !  "  whistled  Pat  in  a  most  comical  fashion, 
"  clever  ye  say  —  the  filthy  badger!  " 

"  Bid  he  not  treat  you  well  ?  " 

"  The  pig-nosed  skunk,"  continued  Pat,  with  an  impres- 
sive gesture. 

"  Was  he  not  kind  to  you  ?" 

"  Hiram  Pike  kind  ;  would  ye  think  so  —  that  snaking 
murtherin'  villain ! " 

"  You  are  severe  !     Is  he  not  a  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Gentleman  !  "  repeated  Pat,  with  a  peculiar  grimace  ; 
"the  swindling  thafe — the  bloody  robber,"  he  continued, 
with  great  indignation. 

"  What  did  he  do  that  so  enraged  you  ?  " 

"  He  tried  to  kick  me  down  stairs  because  Miss  Pennie 
Raymond  wouldn't  love  the  blatherin'  vagabond." 

"  Was  he  guilty  of  any  crime  ?  "  inquired  Graham. 

''Better  ask  what  it  was  he  didn't  do!  The  dead  tell 
no  tales!"  and  then  continued,  in  a  low  tone,  "Pat  Me- 
gram  knows  how  to  hold  his  tongue." 

The  Irishman  relaxed  into  silence,  after  having  darkly 
hinted  at  Hiram  Pike's  infamous  deeds,  and  steadily  re- 
fused to  be  more  explicit.  Soon  afterwards  they  arrived 
at  a  hotel  in  Ashville,  where  they  designed  remaining  until 
morning,  and  then  to  proceed  at  once  to  their  final  destina- 
tion. 

Joseph  Newell,  Graham's  uncle  by  marriage,  was  at  this 
time  near  sixty  years  of  age.  He  was  tall,  well  built,  pos- 
sessed of  a  fine  open  countenance  and  a  genial  flow  of  spirits, 
notusuallyobservedinmenof  his  advanced  years.  His  wife 
was  perhaps  near  the  same  age,  and  yet  bore  traces  of  her 
former  beauty.  Her  appearance  indicated  a  woman  of  a 
noble  disposition,  possessing  much  kindness  and  great  be- 
nevolence. 


46  THE   SUNNY    LAND; 

Mr.  Xewell  was  not  cursed  with  either  great  wealth  or 
abject  poverty.  He  had  a  valuable  homestead,  known  as 
"  Laurel  Hill/'  beautifully  located  in  a  romantic  region  on 
the  banks  of  the  French  Broad  Eiver,  and  a  sufficient 
number  of  slaves  to  cultivate  his  lands,  over  whom  he  pre- 
sided like  an  ancient  patriarch,  and  treated  them  with  uni- 
form kindness.  He  was  a  man  void  of  selfishness,  who 
seemed  to  live  for  the  good  of  others,  and  would  at  any 
time  incommode  himself  in  order  to  accommodate  his 
friends  and  neighbors. 

He  had  two  sons  and  one  daughter,  who  were  all  mar- 
ried and  settled  in  the  world  ;  and  for  this  reason  the  vis- 
itors anticipated  a  dull  time  at  "  Laural  Hill,"  but  in  this 
they  were  much  mistaken.  They  were  cordially  received 
by  the  aged  couple,  and  everything  was  brought  into  requi- 
sition, which  was  calculated  to  add  to  their  comfort.  Guests 
were  invited,  dinners  given,  and  gay  assemblages  followed 
each  other  in  quick  succession.  Many  pleasant  acquaint- 
ances were  formed  with  the  people  residing  in  that  vicinity, 
who  were  generally  refined,  courteous  and  accomplished. 
Hunting  and  fishing  parties,  and  all  kinds  of  rural  sports, 
were  added  to  the  programme,  for  the  sake  of  variety,  and 
these  jovial  scenes  were  continued  until  our  friends  grew 
weary  of  pleasure.  They  were  surfeited  with  never  ceas- 
ing gaieties  provided  for  their  entertainment,  and  began 
to  think  of  leaving  "  Laurel  Hill,"  for  some  more  retired 
locality. 

At  the  close  of  a  long  summer  day,  some  weeks  after 
they  had  arrived  at  Mr.  JSTe well's,  the  two  friends  sat  in 
the  piazza,  quietly  conversing. 

"  This  is  a  lovely  spot,"  said  Edward,  at  the  same  time 
surveying  the  surrounding  landscapes. 

"Magnificent  !  "  replied  Graham,  lifting  his  eyes  to  the 
blue  mountains  which  arose  in  the  distance,  towering  far 
above  the  neio-hborino-  hills.  "  Who  would  leave  such  a 
home  to  dwell  amid  the  dust,  din  and  confusion  of  the  city? 


A    STORY    OF   TUE    CRUEL   WAR.  47 

A  man,  blessed  with  a  charming  wife,  would  certainly  be 
happy  in  such  a  lovely  residence." 

"  It  would  not  require  the  charm  of  this  beautiful  loca- 
tion," replied  Edward,  "to  render  a  man  happy  with  one 
he  truly  loved.     You  remember  the  lines  : 

*  Oh  !  woman,  whose  form  and  whose  soul 
Are  the  spell  and  the  light  of  each  path  we  pursue, 
Tho'  sunned  in  the  tropics,  or  chilled  in  the  poles, 
If  woman  be  there  —  there  is  happiness  too.'  " 

"  Yery  touching,  and  easily  appreciated  by  any  man  in 
love;  but,  changing  the  subject,  1  think  we  must  shortly 
seek  another  base  of  operations,  for  if  we  continue  here 
much  longer,  hunting,  fishing,  and  eating  rich  dinners,  we 
will  become  perfectly  demoralized." 

"  We  thought  this  a  barbarous  region  when  we  came  to 
it,"  said  Edward,  "  but  we  find  the  people  refined." 

"  Unusually  intelligent." 

"  Kind,  and  given  to  hospitality." 

"  Honest,  moral,  and  upright." 

"  We  have  met  ladies  here  who  would  make  some  of  our 
dashing  city  belles  ashamed  of  themselves ;  but  we  are 
w^andering  from  the  question  I  proposed  for  our  consider- 
ation. I  learn  that  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  resid- 
ing in  this  neighborhood,  intend  visiting  Little  Eiver  Falls, 
where  they  will  remain  one  night.  Now,  I  propose  that  we 
accompany  them  to  that  point,  and  then  proceed  alone  to 
Caesar's  Head,  on  the  Blue  Eidge.  We  can  stay  there  a  short 
time,  and  then  return  to  this  place ;  and  after  a  few  more 
days  of  luxurious  ease,  at  "  Laurel  Hill,"  w^e  will  set  out 
for  Nashville." 

"All  right,"  said  Edward. 

"Then  it  is  settled,"  continued  Graham  ;  "  but  I  will  make 
one  proviso  for  your  benefit.  Should  we  again  meet  '  the 
Belle  of  the  Mountains,'  you  are  at  liberty  to  remain  in 
her  presence  until  another  sad  accident  shall  throw  her 
into  your  arms." 


48  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

"  What  about  Pat  Megram?"  enquired  Edward. 

"  He  has  been  ruaking  himself  so  useful  on  the  farm,  that 
uncle  would  like  to  retain  his  services.  We  have  no  more 
use  for  him  than  a  wagon  has  for  a  fifth  wheel,  as  we  are 
both  capable  of  driving  our  own  carriage." 

"  Then,"  said  Edward,  "  we  should  leave  him  here  where 
he  will  have  a  good  home,  be  well  paid  and  kindly  treated 
—  blessings  which  the  land  of  boastful  civilization  and 
free  labor  was  rarely  ever  known  to  bestow  on  the  poor 
Irishman." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  49 


CHAPTEE    YII. 

Chola,  or  Lena's  Mountain  Home. 

There  is  a  clear  and  crystal  stream  known  as  "  Mills 
River  "  which  has  its  source  in  the  high  and  broken  regions 
of  North  Carolina.  From  the  lofty  Blue  Ridge  range  of 
mountains  it  flows  rapidly  into  the  plains  beneath,  and 
then  rolls  on  through  a  rich  and  variegated  country  until 
it  finally  mingles  its  sparkling  waters  with  the  French 
Broad  River.  Fruitful  fields,  charming  cottages,  splendid 
country  seats  and  enchanting  landscapes  mark  its  mean- 
dering course  through  this  wild  and  romantic  region. 

At  the  period  of  which  we  write,  there  might  have  been 
seen  standing  on  a  considerable  eminence,  overlooking  the 
clear  waters  of  Mills  River,  a  mansion  house  of  no  ordina- 
ry character,  which  appeared  to  have  been  recently  con- 
structed, and  might  have  been  justly  pronounced  a  model 
of  architectural  beauty.  A  large  enclosure  immediately 
around  the  dwelling  was  neatly  laid  off  in  gravelled  walks 
iined  with  flowers  and  shrubbery,  and  the  whole  was 
adorned  by  a  great  variety  of  shade  trees.  Adjoining  this 
was  an  extensive  flower  garden  such  as  no  stranger  would 
have  expected  to  find  in  a  broken,  isolated  and  mountain- 
ous region.  On  a  neighboring  eminence  some  distance  from 
the  mansion  house  stood  some  neatly  whitewashed  cotta- 
ges, occupied  by  a  number  of  slaves  then  a  happy  and  con- 
tented people,  having  but  few  wants  and  fewer  cares.  Fol- 
lowing the  course  of  the  river,  as  far  as  eye  could  reach 
were  level  and  fertile  fields  then  in  a  high  state  of  cultiva- 
3 


50  THE  SUNNY   LAND; 

tion,  bounded  on  one  side  by  that  sparkling  stream,  and 
on  the  other  by  raajestic  hills,  clothed  in  richest  ver- 
dure. In  the  opposite  direction,  a  mountain  arose  abruptly 
far  above  the  adjoining  valley,  known  as  "  Mount  Chola," 
or  "Lofty  Hill,"  a  term  derived  from  the  aborigines  of  the 
country,  and  by  which  name  this  residence  had  long  been 
distinguished. 

It  was  in- the  beginning  of  "  dark  and  shadowy  autumn," 
we  would  introduce  the  reader  into  this  Eden  home.  How 
lovely  then  appeared  this  earthly  paradise  —  when  the 
surrounding  hills  wore  their  most  beautiful  hues,  com- 
bining the  purple,  gray,  and  gold,  in  perfect  symmetry  — 
when  the  trees  were  groaning  with  luscious  fruit  —  when 
the  neighboring  mountains  smiled  in  matchless  drapery  — 
when  not  a  cloud  marked  the  blue  expanse  of  the  heavens, 
except  here  and  there  a  white  fleecy  mist  floating  like 

"  A  silent  dream  upon  the  sky, 
A  breathless  soul  of  sleepy  quietude." 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  long  summer  day,  when  a  fair 
young  lady  sat  in  a  vine-clad  arbor,  near  the  residence  we 
have  described.  She  was  watching  the  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  falling  on  the  summit  of  "  Mount  Chola  "  and 
gilding  its  craggy  heights  with  golden  beams,  presenting  a 
magnificent  scene,  from  whence  the  poet  might  have  drawn 
deep  inspiration  and  have  formed  the  richest  conceptions 
of  beauty.  There  she  remained  motionless  —  reflecting, 
perhaps  dreaming,  of  happiness  never  to  be  realized.  She 
possessed  a  charming  face,  expressive  of  inward  purity. 
It  was  the  loved  but  nameless  one  — "  the  belle  of  the 
mountains.'^ 

Another  now  approached,  almost  as  young,  as  tender,  as 
fair  —  who  seemed  born  to  dispute  with  her  the  prize  of 
beauty.  She  had  perhaps,  seen  her  eighteenth  summer, 
and  was  about  the  ordinary  height  of  her  sex.  Her  fea- 
tures were  regular,  her  complexion  fair,  and  her  eyes  a 
dark  blue,  expressing  intellectual  fire,  and  at  the  same 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  51 

time  possessing  that  sweet  and  languishing  loveliness  pe- 
culiar to  that  sunny  clime. 

"She  was  like 
A  dream  of  poetry  that  may  not  be 
Written  or  told  —  exceedingly  beautiful." 

Such  was  Yenie  Ardin,  accounted  fair,  intellectual 
and  accomplished. 

"  Cousin  Lena,"  she  said,  "  are  you  all  alone  ?  " 

"  Yes,  alone  —  dreaming." 

"Dreaming,  cousin  ?  "  she  continued,  as  she  sat  down  in 
a  rustic  seat;  "and  pray,  what  has  set  you  to  dreaming?" 

"  JSTothing  sj)ecial,  Yenie,"  she  replied,  and  then  added : 
"  I  am  glad  you  did  not  remain  any  longer  in  Columbia. 
If  you  had,  I  should  have  indulged  in  many  more  waking 
dreams." 

"  Lena,  you  have  not  yet  told  me  the  particulars  of  your 
journey  to  East  Tennessee." 

"  ^o,  I  have  had  no  opportunity  since  your  arrival.  It 
was  both  a  pleasant  and  unpleasant  tour.  I  met  a  gentle- 
man at  Knoxville,"  she  added  abruptly,  "  whom  you  will 
remember." 

"  Who  ?  "  inquired  Yenie. 

"  Hiram  Pike,  the  same  who  once  visited  us  at  Colum- 
bia." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  remember  that  gentleman  very  well.  He 
appeared  to  admire  you  exceedingly  at  that  time." 

"He  called  on  me,"  continued  Lena,  "and  was  very  at- 
tentive whilst  I  remained  in  Knoxville,  which  was  only  a 
short  time.  After  I  went  to  Montvale  he  came  there,  as 
he  declared,  expressly  to  pay  me  a  visit,  but  I  can  as- 
sure you  his  opportunities  were  somewhat  limited.  He 
accompanied  Mrs.  Duree  and  myself  in  our  trip  to  the 
summit  of  Chilhome,  where  I  came  so  near  losing  my 
life." 

"  You  have  not  the  remotest  idea  who  rescued  you  on 
that  occasion  ?  " 


52  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"  I  have  not,  for  be  was  not  to  be  seen  wben  I  bad  recov- 
ered. Tbey  told  me  tbat  be  bad  been  injured  in  bis  efforts 
to  save  my  Ufe,  and  tbat  bis  friends  bad  taken  bim  to  tbe 
hoteb  Soon  after  we  bad  arrived  at  Montvale,  papa  went  out 
in  searcb  of  tbe  stranger,  but  not  knowing  bis  name,  be 
was  not  successful.  Hiram  Pike  came  in  soon  afterwards 
and  said  tbat  be  bad  seen  tbe  same  party  leave  tbat  water- 
ing place  in  a  private  conveyance  —  tbat  tbeir  names  were 
not  registered  at  tbe  botel,  and  tbat  be  tbougbt  tbey  were 
countrymen  residing  somewbere  in  tbat  vicinity." 

Tbe  young  ladies  were  silent  a  few  moments,  busy  witb 
tbeir  own  tbougbts,  wben  Lena  continued  — 

•'  I  am  inclined  to  tbink  tbat  I  recently  met  tbe  same 
gentleman." 

"  Wbere  ?  " 

''  You  remember  tbat  I  told  you  of  a  tbunder-storm  in 
tbe  mountains,  wben  a  young  man  came  to  our  assistance. 
"We  first  met  at  tbe  spring  before  tbe  storm  began,  and  it 
appeared  like  a  dream  to  me  tbat  I  bad  before  seen  bis 
face.  Tben  afterwards,  during  tbe  storm,  wben  I  bad 
more  time  to  observe  bis  features,  I  was  inclined  to  tbink 
be  was  tbe  person  wbo  rescued  me  from  deatb.  I  spoke 
to  Mrs.  Duree  in  regard  to  it,  but  sbe  declared  tbat  tbere 
was  not  tbe  slightest  resemblance.  Sbe  yet  insists  tbat 
tbe  man  wbo  saved  my  life  was  bard-featured,  and  looked 
like  a  rougb  backwoodsman,  and  Hiram  Pike  gave  me  tbe 
same  description  of  bis  person.  Tbe  gentleman  we  met 
in  tbe  mountains  was  very  handsome,  but  notwithstanding 
this  discrepancy,  I  have  not  changed  my  opinion." 

"  How  did  it  happen  that  you  were  separated  from  tbat 
young  man  in  tbe  mountains,  without  learning  even  bis 
name?" 

"  During  the  storm  we  were  all  frightened,  and  the  roar 
of  the  tempest  was  so  great,  it  was  impossible  to  converse. 
Finding  we  would  be  very  late  in  reaching  our  destination, 
we  started  before  tbe  rain  bad  ceased.     As  soon  as  tbe 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  53 

horses  were  harnessed  to  the  carriage,  they  dashed  away, 
giving  us  no  oj^portunity.  I  then  thought  these  young 
men  would  put  up  where  we  did,  or  spend  the  night  at  the 
Warm  Springs,  in  the  same  neighborhood.  If  they  stop- 
ped at  this  watering-place,  they  must  have  set  out  very 
early  next  morning." 

"  Would  you  know  that  young  man  should  you  acciden- 
tally meet?" 

"  I  certainly  would,"  said  Lena,  solemnly,  "  I  will  never 
forget  his  appearance." 

"  Love  at  first  sight,"  said  Yenie,  smiling. 

"  No,  not  love,"  replied  Lena  seriously,  in  a  low  tone, 
"but  only  the  grateful  remembrance  of  a  stranger  who 
saved  me  from  a  fearful  death.  This  should  not  be  called 
love." 

"  Love,"  said  Yenie,  "  has  been  defined  '  two  souls  with  a 
single  thought.' " 

"  Two  hearts  that  beat  as  one,"  continued  Lena,  "  which 
would  not  be  applicable  to  the  present  case." 

Twilight  had  imperceptibly  gathered  around  the  cous- 
ins as  they  sat  conversing,  and  they  now  arose  and  walked 
towards  the  mansion  hand  in  hand,  reposing  in  each 
other  that  implicit  confidence  which  youthful  hearts  are 
accustomed  to  yield  before  they  are  chilled  by  contact 
with  a  cold,  calculating  and  deceitful  world.  They  were 
united  by  ties  of  true  and  disinterested  friendship, 

"  High  flavored  bliss  of  Gods  to  man  how  rare  — 
On  earth  how  lost." 

Some  years  previous  to  the  period  of  which  we  write, 
James  Eston,  a  wealthy  Southern  planter,  owning  a  large 
amount  of  cotton  lands  in  South  Carolina,  had  purchased 
"Chola,"  intending  to  make  it  his  summer  residence.  He 
had  remained  single  until  he  was  somewhat  advanced  in 
years,  when  he  married  a  lady,  in  every  way  his  equal, 
but  after  a  short  period  of  happiness  she  died,  leaving  Le- 
na, then  a  small  girl,  and  her  niece,  Yenie  Ardin,  an  or- 


54  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

phan,  about  two  years  older  than  her  cousin.  He  placed 
them  both  under  the  care  of  their  aunt,  who  resided  in 
Columbia,  with  whom  they  continued  until  her  death, 
which  had  recently  occurred. 

About  two  months  previous  to  this  time,  Mr.  Eston  had 
resolved  to  take  his  daughter  and  niece  to  "  Chola,"  which 
he  had  determined  to  make  his  permanent  home.  As  Ye- 
nie  wished  to  visit  some  distant  relatives  in  South  Caroli- 
na before  going  to  this  country  seat,  she  was  left  behind, 
with  the  understanding  she  would  rejoin  them  during  the 
summer.  In  accordance  with  this  agreement,  she  had 
just  returned  to  "Chola,"  and  is  again  with  her  cousin, 
from  whom  she  had  never  before  been  separated. 

Soon  after  Mr.  Eston  had  arrived  at  this  country  seat, 
accompanied  by  his  daughter,  he  saw  that  she  was  likely 
to  grow  weary  of  this  quiet  home  during  the  absence  of  her 
almost  inseparable  companion,  and  concluded  to  take  her 
on  a  visit  to  East  Tennessee.  This  journey  had  already 
been  made  as  we  have  seen,  and  they  had  only  reached 
home  a  few  days  before  the  arrival  of  Yenie  Ardin.  Thus 
the  two  cousins  had  met  at  "  Chola,"  which  was  hereafter 
to  be  their  permanent  residence,  where  they  expected  to 
find  much  peace,  quietude  and  hajDpiness. 

There  is  yet  another  inmate  of  this  mansion,  destined 
to  act  an  important  part  in  our  story,  during  the  bloody 
war  about  to  be  inaugurated.  Many  years  previous  to 
this  period,  Thomas  Duree  and  his  wife  had  removed  from 
Massachusetts  to  South  Carolina.  Mr.  Eston  employed 
this  man  as  overseer  as  long  as  he  lived,  and  after  his 
death  his  widow  being  left  without  any  property,  applied 
to  him  for  assistance.  Having  recently  purchased  "  Cho- 
la," and  knowing  that  she  was  a  good  manager,  he  pro- 
posed that  she  should  go  to  that  country  seat  and  reside 
there  during  his  absence.  She  gladly  accepted  this  offer, 
telling  him  she  would  certainly  prove  an  excellent  house- 
keeper, and  she  had  already  been  in  this  place  more  than 


A    STORY   OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  55 

two  years,  ^hc  was  a  keen,  shrewd  and  managing  wo- 
man —  with  only  a  moderate  education,  but  she  spoke  flu- 
ently, and  was  blessed  with  easy  manners,  which  enabled 
her  to  pass  in  any  circle  of  society.  She  possessed  strong 
prejudices,  and  clung  to  all  preconceived  opinions  with 
great  tenacity,  but  she  never  allowed  these  to  interfere 
with  her  private  interests.  She  would,  when  she  deemed 
it  safe  to  do  so,  denounce  the  institution  of  slavery  in  the 
bitterest  terms,  but  when  slaves  were  placed  under  her 
charge,  she  proved  a  hard  task-master.  Sometimes  she 
would  grow  impatient  with  the  servants,  bang,  cuff,  abuse, 
and  call  them  a  worthless,  vagabond  race,  for  a  time  for- 
getful of  her  much  loved  doctrines  of  negro  equality. 

Mr.  Eston  knowing  that  his  daughter  was  young  and 
inexperienced  as  to  travelling,  had  taken  Mrs.  Duree  with 
them  on  the  recent  trip  to  East  Tennessee.  Here  his  house- 
keej)er  met  with  Hiram  Pike,  with  whom  she  soon  be- 
came unusually  intimate,  to  the  great  surprise  of  Mr.  Es- 
ton and  his  daughter,  who  could  not  imagine  what  motives 
could  induce  this  friendly  alliance.  It  was  impossible  that 
they  should  understand  the  deep  laid  schemes  they  were 
then  considering,  for  the  accomplishment  of  their  selfish 
purposes. 

Mr.  Eston  had  remained  single  after  the  death  of  his  wife, 
and  was  ever  contented  with  his  lot.  He  had  wealth  in 
abundance  and  did  not  desire  more.  He  had  overseers  on 
his  plantations  upon  whose  honesty  and  fidelity  he  could 
rely.  He  possessed  this  lovely  mountain  home  —  a  man- 
aging housekeeper  in  the  person  of  Mrs.  Duree,  and  a 
large  number  of  well  treated  slaves,  who  gave  him  no 
trouble.  He  had  with  him  a  niece  whom  he  loved,  and  a 
beautiful  and  affectionate  daughter,  the  pride  and  joy  of 
his  life.  He  now  imagined  that  the  remainder  of  his 
years  would  pass  away  in  peace  and  quietude,  for  he  knew 
not  that  the  sad  day  was  approaching  when  men  would 
devour  each  other  like  ferocious  beasts  —  when  professed 


56  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

Christians  would  forget  the  great  law  of  love,  and  even 
ministers  of  the  gospel,  "  wearing  the  livery  of  heaven  to 
serve  the  devil,"  would  stand  with  Bible,  halter  and  torch 
and  urge  their  hearers  to  join  in  splendid  murder. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  57 


CHAPTEE   YIII. 

Hiram  Pike  in  the  Queen  City  of  the  West. 

Hiram  Pike  sat  alone  in  a  large,  well  furnished  and 
comfortable  apartment,  of  his  own  bachelor  establishment. 
A  table  stood  at  his  side,  upon  which  lay  pen,  ink,  and  pa- 
per, indicating  that  he  had  been  recently  writing.  A  bowie 
knife  and  a  revolver  were  within  his  reach,  for  which  he 
did  not  seem  to  have  an  immediate  use.  A  copy  of  Help- 
er's Impending  Crisis,  the  last  number  of  Harper's  Weekly, 
and  a  glass  of  brandy,  all  alike  subtle  poisons  for  either 
body  or  mind,  completed  the  inventory  of  popular  articles. 
A  letter  which  he  had  just  finished  lay  oj)en  before  him, 
which  read  as  follows  . 

"  I  arrived  in  Cincinnati  three  days  ago,  and  find  I  can- 
not visit  your  place  as  early  as  I  had  anticipated.  I  trust 
you  will  watch  over  my  interests,  and  not  permit  any  one 
to  take  advantage  of  my  absence.  I  learned  after  leaving 
Montvale  that  those  two  gentlemen  (you  know  who)  did 
not  return  to  Nashville,  but  started  on  a  tour  throuo-h  the 
mountains.  You  will  not  probably  hear  of  them  again,  but 
should  they  accidentally  reach  your  vicinity,  you  must  take 
the  young  rascals  under  your  special  care.  Eemember 
what  I  told  you  at  Montvale  in  regard  to  Mr.  Ashton,  that 
he  has  no  fortune  and  is  engaged  to  a  lady  in  this  city. 
The  other  matters  we  will  discuss  when  we  meet  again." 

Hiram  Pike  folded  up  this  note  and  addressed  it  to  Mrs. 
Adeline  Duree.  A  smile  now  broke  over  his  face,  as  if  an- 
ticipating some  much  desired  triumph,  but  gradually  it 
3* 


58  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

passed  away  and  was  succeeded  by  a  clouded  brow.  Some- 
thing unpleasant  evidently  troubled  his  conscience  and 
stirred  the  depths  of  his  spirit.  A  dark  scowl  gathered 
over  his  face,  and  marred  his  whole  countenance.  Some 
ghastly  image  suddenly  appeared.  He  threw  up  his  hands 
as  if  to  drive  away  tho  unwelcome  spectre,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  a  half  suppressed  oath  burst  from  his  lips. 

Hiram  Pike  was  religious,  after  a  certain  Pharisaical 
fashion.  He  believed  in  as  much  of  Divine  Revelation  as 
suited  his  purposes,  and  obeyed  as  many  of  its  precepts  as 
was  absolutely  necessary  in  order  to  retain  his  position  in 
society.  Some  years  previous  he  had  joined  a  fashionable 
church,  and  made  what  he  considered  a  great  sacrifice  by 
punctually  attending  morning  service  on  every  Sabbath  day. 
He  was  also  liberal,  at  all  times  when  he  was  certain  his 
charitable  deeds  would  be  made  public,  but  on  all  other 
occasions  the  poor  might  have  called  on  him  in  vain  for 
assistance. 

He  soon  became  weary  of  spending  one  whole  hour 
everv  Sabbath,  listenins;  to  unwelcome  truths,  and  bescan 
to  think  of  giving  uj)  his  professions,  when  a  few  more  of 
the  pretended  "virgins  without  oil  in  their  lamps,"  and, 
probably,  without  even  lamps,  proposed  that  they  should 
build  a  new  church  edifice,  where  they  could  worship  ac- 
cording to  their  own  pleasure.  Hiram  went  into  this 
measure  with  all  his  heart,  and,  when  the  new  house  had 
been  completed,  they  were  happy  in  obtaining  a  suitable 
Pastor,  in  the  person  of  Absalom  Blubber,  a  young  minis- 
ter fresh  from  the  New  Eno-land  hot-bed  of  fanaticism. 
This  apostle  of  the  modern  School,  being  profoundly  ig- 
norant of  the  Spiritual  Kingdom,  turned  his  attention  to 
temporal  matters.  He  began  to  both  pray  and  preach 
Republicanism,  which  thoroughly  aroused  Hiram,  who 
went  to  work  in  the  good  cause  with  as  much  zeal  as  Paul 
set  out  from  Jerusalem  to  Damascus,  breathing  destruc- 
tion against  all  who  professed  Christ. 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  59 

Absalom  Blubber  began  a  series  of  sermons  on  the  sin 
of  slavery,  interspersed  with  philippics  against  the  South, 
and  blasphemous  prayers  for  the  destruction  of  the  peo- 
ple who  held  bondsmen.  He  waxed  greater  and  greater 
in  the  eyes  of  ignorant  fanatics,  and  his  fame  went  abroad 
throughout  all  the  North  Country.  Thousands  flocked  to 
hear  these  political  tirades,  evincing  a  spirit  as  bitter,  re- 
vengeful, and  cruel,  as  that  which  inflamed  the  breast  of 
Alva,  the  implacable  Spaniard,  when  he  deluged  all  Neth- 
erlands with  the  blood  of  innocent  victims. 

Hiram  Pike  remained  seated  at  the  table,  as  we  have 
described,  apparently  lost  in  his  own  unpleasant  reflections 
until  a  servant  entered  and  humbly  announced  that  a  lady 
wished  to  see  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Who  the  deuce  is  it  ?  "  enquired  Hiram,  crustily. 

*'  I  don't  know,"  said  the  servant. 

"  Don't  know, —  you  slab-sided  heathen,  why  did  you  not 
ask  ?  " 

"I  did,"  said  the  servant,  meekly,  "  but  she  wouldn't  tell 
her  name." 

"Was  she  well-dressed  ?  " 

"  She  didn't  look  much,"  replied  the  servant.  "  She  was 
mighty  rough." 

Hiram  Pike  now  muttered  a  curse  on  all  new  servants, 
with  the  mental  reflection  he  could  never  get  one  to  re- 
main in  his  house  that  was  worth  a  copper.  He  then  se- 
cured his  revolver  and  bowie  knife  about  his  person,  and 
went  down,  wondering  what  woman  had  called  to  see  him 
in  his  bachelor  establishment.  He  soon  found  himself 
standing  face  to  face  with  a  hard  featured,  middle  aged 
woman,  wearing  a  slouch  sun-bonnet,  and  dressed  in  a 
shabby  apparel. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  exclaimed  the  indignant  Hiram, 
in  a  harsh  tone. 

"  To  talk  a  little  with  you,  Mr.  Pike." 

"  With  me  ?     What  about  ?  " 


60  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"  Sit  dovrn,  Mr.  Pike,"  said  the  woman,  calmly,  throwing 
herself  into  the  nearest  chair,  and  adding,  "  I'll  help  my- 
self to  a  chair.     IS'ow  to  business.'* 

"  What  business  ?  "  said  Hiram,  with  excessive  dignity. 

"  My  name  is  Nell  Tucker,"  continued  the  woman. 

"  What,"  exclaimed  Hiram,  with  an  oath,  "  have  I  to  do 
withlSTell  Tucker?" 

"  Nothing !  "  said  the  incorrigible  woman  ;  "  but  Nell 
Tucker  has  something  to  do  with  you." 

"  Proceed,"  said  Hiram,  becoming  more  and  more  en- 
raged. 

"  Don't  hurry  me,"  replied  Nell.  "  I  always  do  business 
10  suit  my  own  notion." 

"  I  have  a  notion,"  burst  forth  from  Hiram's  lips,  *'to 
send  you  out  of  my  house." 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,"  she  continued  ;  and  after  a  moment 
added  :  "Don't  be  in  such  a  mortal  flurry.  I  guess  there 
be  no  one  dying,  that  you  couldn't  wait  a  bit  on  an  ole 
'oman  like  myself." 

Hiram,  seeing  no  other  way,  bit  his  lips  and  sat  down 
to  listen,  endeavoring  to  choke  down  his  rage  at  the 
woman's  insolence,  and  then  said : 

"  Now,  your  business  —  quick." 

"  It  won't  be  so  mighty  pleasant,  that  you  need  be  so 
impatient  to  hear  it,"  continued  the  woman.  "  I  guess 
you  would  rather  not  hear,  if  you  could  git  your  choice." 

Nell  Tucker  now  ceased  speaking,  and  seemed  to  be  re- 
flecting as  to  the  best  mode  of  making  an  attack  on  her 
adversary.  She  was  about  to  proceed  again,  when  Hiram, 
exclaimed : 

"  If  you  haven't  got  anything  to  say  you  will  please 
take  that  door,  before  I  call  a  servant  and  send  you  into 
the  streets." 

"  Turn  me  out,  if  you  dare,"  said  Nell,  pointing  at  him 
one  of  her  long  bony  fingers. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  infernal  old  hag  ?  Did  you 
come  here  to  insult  me  in  my  own  house  ?  " 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  61 

"  Hush  !  "  hissed  the  woman.  "  Don't  call  me  no  names, 
or  I  will " 

She  did  not  complete  the  sentence,  but  she  drew  her  fin- 
gers around  her  neck  and  made  the  motion  of  tying  a 
knot,  which  Hiram  well  understood  and  instantly  began 
to  tremble. 

"  What  do  you  intend  by  that,"  he  asked,  nervously. 

"I  guess  you  minds  of  being  in  Kansas  and  seeing  an 
old  man  and  his  poor  innocent  daughter,  who  died  —  you 
know  how,  and  so  do  I." 

Hiram  sprang  to  his  feet,  appalled  at  the  idea  of  this 
woman  possessing  a  secret  he  had  hoped  was  locked  up 
forever  in  his  own  breast,  but  after  a  moment  he  sank  back 
into  his  chair  without  uttering  a  word.  Nell  Tucker  sat 
quietly  observing  the  effect  of  her  words,  until  Hiram 
said  : 

"  You  want  money." 

"  Money !  that's  it,"  replied  the  implacable  woman, 
with  a  peculiar  chuckle.  Then  followed  a  long  conversa- 
tion of  a  more  amicable  character.  Propositions  were 
made,  the  terms  debated,  and  finally,  a  bargain  concluded, 
by  which  Nell  Tucker  received  three  hundred  dollars,  and, 
on  her  part,  promised  to  keep  -a  certain  secret  from  her 
most  intimate  friends. 

********* 

Two  hours  afterwards,  Hiram  was  dressed  with  unusual 
care,  and  stood  before  a  costly  mirror,  surveying  himself 
with  evident  satisfaction.  "  To-night,"  he  murmured, 
half  aloud,  "  I  am  to  have  an  answer  to  my  suit.  To-night 
Pennie  Eaymond  may  promise  to  be  mine  !  To-night  the 
proud  '  Belle  of  Two  Cities  '  becomes  my  afl&anced,  or  we 
part  forever.  It  must  be  a  positive  yes,  or  an  eternal 
farewell." 

Leaving  this  individual,  cogitating  upon  his  probable 
success,  let  us  precede  him  to  the  residence  of  August  Eay- 
mond, a  large  brown  mansion  on  one  of  the  most  fashion- 


62  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

able  streets  of  the  "  Queen  City."  There,  in  a  large  a^^art- 
ment,  furnished  in  the  most  extravagant  manner,  sat  Pen- 
nie  Raymond,  resting  her  elbovr  on  a  finely-carved  rose- 
wood table,  apparently  lost  in  her  own  reflections,  which 
were  evidently  not  of  a  pleasant  nature.  Let  us  follow 
the  train  of  the  thoughts  which  were  then  passing  through 
her  mind. 

"  Mama  says  Mr.  Pike  is  a  nice  gentleman,  but  he  does 
not  suit  my  taste.  I  would  not  like  pike  for  breakfast, 
pike  for  dinner,  pike  for  supper.  I  am  sure  I  could  not 
endure  Pike  all  the  time.  Then  there  is  Mr.  Wharfinger, 
an  old  wharf-rat,  supposed  to  have  murdered  his  first  wife. 
His  money  won't  buy  me  at  present.  These  are  my  only 
wealthy  suitors.  What  am  I  to  do?  My  father  is  about 
to  fail,  and  says  that  I  must  marry  rich,  or  we  will  all  be 
poor.  I  am  to  consider  myself  in  the  nature  of  a  mort- 
gaged property,  for  the  purpose  of  raising  money.  Heigho  ! 
I  wish  I  had  secured  Edward  Ashton,  the  only  man  I  ever 
loved,  but  I  have  lost  him  forever.  I  must  choose  some 
one  immediately.  Hiram  Pike  is  to  have  an  answ,er  on 
this  evening.  Perhaps  I  might  live  with  him  in  splendid 
misery." 

Again  her  mind  wandered  back  to  Edward  Ashton.  She 
recalled  his  unchangeable  kindness  —  his  warm  affection  — 
his  noble  actions  —  his  cherished  words,  and  a  tear  stole 
unbidden  down  her  lovely  cheek.  A  deep  sigh  heaved  her 
breast,  and  she  exclaimed  aloud,  "  lost !  lost !  lost  to  me 
forever ! " 

A  servant  now  entered  and  announced  that  Hiram  Pike 
was  in  the  parlor  below.  Her  whole  manner  instantly 
changed.  The  tear  was  hastily  wiped  away,  and  a  smile 
passed  over  her  face.  She  surveyed  herself  a  few  moments 
before  the  mirror,  and,  satisfied  with  this  inspection,  rap- 
idly descended  to  the  parlor,  and  appeared  in  the  presence 
of  the  devoted  Hiram  Pike. 

Well  did  the  "Belle  of  Two  Cities"   act  the  part  she 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  63 

had  chosen.  She  had  long  been  holding  Hiram  at  a  distance 
by  assuming  a  cold  and  haughty  air,  but  now  she  had  de- 
termined to  adopt  new  tactics.  She  talked,  laughed,  and 
smiled  on  the  man  she  really  despised.  Hiram  was  pleased 
with  her  innocent  wiles,  and  labored  hard  to  act  the  agree- 
able. He  could  not  withstand  the  fascinations  of  beauty, 
and  was  charmed,  captivated,  bewildered,  and  ready  to 
kneel  at  her  feet.  He  adored  her  more  than  ever  —  con- 
sidered her  the  height  of  perfection,  and  repeated  to  him- 
self, 

"Thou  hast  no  faults,  or  I  no  faults  can  see." 

He  did  not  for  one  moment  suppose  that  he  was  woo- 
in  o-  a  beauty  without  fortune.  He  knew  her  father  held 
a  large  amount  of  property,  and  that  he  was  reputed 
T^ealthy.  Had  he  known  the  fact  that  August  Eaymond 
was  then  indebted  to  a  heavy  amount,  he  would  have 
paused  in  the  midst  of  his  happy  anticipations,  for  he  was 
naturally  penurious,  loved  money,  and  had  long  since  re- 
solved that  he  would  marry  no  one  who  did  not  possess 
the  property  qualification.  It  was  the  reported  wealth 
of  this  family  that  had  first  induced  him  to  seek  an  alli- 
ance with  it,  thinking  he  would  thereby  greatly  increase 
his  wealth,  and,  at  the  same  time,  have  the  honor  of  win- 
ning the  "  Belle  of  Two  Cities." 

Hiram  had  been  promised  an  answer  to  his  suit  on  this 
nio-ht.  The  manner  he  had  been  received  satisfied  him  it 
would  be  favorable,  yet  it  was  necessary  that  he  go  through 
that  form  sometimes  termed  "  popping  the  question,"  an 
awkward  business,  a  universal  custom,  established  by  the 
usages  of  good  society.  He  proved  himself  equal  to  the 
task.  He  talked  eloquently  of  his  undying  love,  whilst 
the  fair  Pennie  blushed,  smiled,  and  blushed  again.  To- 
gether they  falsely  acknowledged  a  mutual  flame,  and  false- 
ly swore  eternal  constancy. 

Hiram  Pike  left  the  residence  of  Mr.  Eaymond  in  a  hap- 
py mood.     To  win  the  hand  of  this  acknowledged  beauty 


64  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

was  his  crowning  ambition.  He  was  not  capable  of  that 
warm  and  enduring  affection  wliich  knows  no  change,  yet 
he  was  not  insensible  of  her  numerous  charms.  Her  sup- 
posed wealth  and  the  pride  of  winning  one  so  much  ad- 
mired, had  alone  led  him  to  kneel  at  the  feet  of  the  proud 
'*  Belle  of  Two  cities."  In  the  midst  of  all  his  happiness, 
he  could  not  forget  another  belle  he  had  met  in  the  Sunny- 
South,  whom,  he  was  constrained  to  admit,  was  in  every 
way  her  superior.  Had  he  then  known  the  actual  wealth 
of  the  beautiful  Lena  Esten,  he  would  have  gladly  ex- 
changed the  "  Belle  of  Two  Cities"  for  the  ''Belle  of  the 
Mountains,"  and  demonstrated  the  truthfulness  of  the 
poet's  words  — 

"  All  love  may  be  expelled  by  other  love, 
As  poisons  are  by  poisons." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  65 


CHAPTEE  IX. 

The  Nameless  Beauty. 

It  was  on  a  bright  summer  day  when  a  considerable 
number  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  set  out  to  visit  the  "Lit- 
tle Eiver  Falls."  Perhaps  no  pleasure  party  ever  enjoyed 
themselves  better  on  a  similar  occasion.  They  were  all 
full  of  life,  and  ready  to  make  the  most  of  every  amusing 
circumstance. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  they  reached  the  hotel  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  falls.  They  halted  in  front  of  it, 
and,  instead  of  alighting,  called  for  the  landlord.  In  a 
few  moments  a  low,  thick  set,  and  dull  specimen  of  hu- 
manity, made  his  appearance,  to  whom  Graham  said  : 

"AYe  wish  to  remain  with  you  to-night,  but  as  we  will 
have  sufficient  time,  we  propose  to  first  visit  the  Falls." 

The  landlord  bowed,  took  off  his  hat,  rubbed  his  fore- 
head, but  said  nothing. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  Falls  ?"  asked  Graham. 

"  If  you  will  walk  over  that  mountain,"  said  the  land- 
lord, in  a  slow,  measured  tone,  as  he  pointed  to  a  neigh- 
boring hill,  "  it  is  only  a  short  mile.  If  you  prefer  to 
ride  around  it,  you  must  travel  two  long  miles." 

"  Walk  over  that  mountain,"  repeated  Graham,  lifting 
his  eyes  to  its  summit.  "  We  certainly  choose  to  ride. 
You  will  please  direct  us  so  we  can  find  the  way." 

"  You  must  have  a  guide,"  said  the  landlord, 

"  Where  can  we  obtain  one  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Absalom  will  go  with  you." 


66  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

"  All  right,"  said  Graham,  "  let  us  have  the  guide." 

The  landlord  stood  motionless  gazing  at  the  visitors, 
probably  estimating  the  profits  of  the  night's  entertain- 
ment. The  whole  party  began  to  grow  impatient  at  the 
delay,  yet  the  curious  proprietor  remained  speechless. 
After  Graham  had  waited  some  time  for  the  appearance 
of  the  promised  guide,  he  exclaimed : 

"  The  guide  !  where  is  the  guide  ?  " 

"  There,"  cried  the  landlord,  pointing  to  a  small,  diminu- 
tive negro  boy,  who  stood  awaiting  orders. 

"  What !  that  child  ?  "  said  Graham,  with  evident  sur- 
prise. 

"  That's  Absalom !  "  thundered  out  the  landlord,  some- 
what provoked  at  the  stupidity  of  his  visitors. 

The  boy  was  so  small  that  no  one  had  observed  him 
until  he  was  brought  into  notice  by  the  proprietor,  and 
the  merry  young  men  of  the  party  instantly  greeted  the 
curly-headed  stripling  with  peals  of  laughter,  which  were 
greatly  increased  by  some  one  singing  out :  "  Absalom ! 
Oh  Absalom  !  my  son  Absalom  !  " 

They  now  set  out  for  the  Falls.     They  proceeded  on  an 
excellent  turnpike  a  short  distance  and  then  turned  into  a 
miserable  mountain  road,  and  in  less  than  a  half  hour, 
came  to  a  place  that  was  imjDassable.     Here  they  alight- 
ed, secured  their  horses,  and  walked  down  a  steep  moun- 
tain side,  clothed  with  heavy  forests,  from  which  they  soon 
emerged,  and  were  then  in  full  view  of  the  "  Lower  Falls,'' 
a  perfect  Niagara  on  a  small  scale.     The  entire  waters  of 
the  river  poured  over  a  high  precipice  and  fell  a  long  dis- 
tance in  one  unbroken  sheet,  foaming,  dashing  and  roar- 
ing on  the  rocks  beneath. 

The  whole  party  stood  for  some  time  in  silence,  watch- 
ing the  cataract,  and  then  proceeded  up  the  steep  moun- 
tain to  what  is  known  as  the  ''  Upper  Falls,"  where  the 
water  ran  over  a  smooth  inclined  rock,  for  the  distance  of 
several  hundred  feet.    Meeting  with  no  obstructions,  it 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  67 

was  almost  noiseless  in  its  descent,  and  so  clear  was  the 
water  and  so  swilt  the  current,  that  the  whole  stream 
dwindled  into  insignificance  long  before  it  reached  the 
base. 

An  hour  afterwards  they  set  out  for  the  hotel,  where 
they  proposed  spending  the  night.  They  had  reached  the 
brow  of  the  hill,  which  overlooked  the  turnpike  road 
leading  through  the  mountains  into  South  Carolina,  when 
Edward  suddenly  exclaimed,  as  he  pointed  to  a  passing 
vehicle  : 

"  Look  at  that  carriage  !  I  see  the  'Belle  of  the  Moun- 
tains in  it?'" 

Graham  smiled  at  his  friend's  earnestness,  and  replied  : 

"  Perhaps  you  were  mistaken." 

"  I  know  the  carriage,"  said  Edward,  "  the  horses,  the 
aged  gentleman,  and  the  '  Belle  of  the  Mountains.'  I  can- 
not be  deceived." 

"They  are  bound  for  South  Carolina,"  said  Graham, 
"  and  will  be  in  that  State  in  less  than  two  hours." 

"It  is  wonderful,"  continued  Edward,  "  how  that  fair 
creature  continually  crosses  my  path.  This  is  the  third 
time  she  has  appeared  unexpectedly  and  passed  away. 
Once  I  bore  her  sweet  form  in  my  arms,  and  twice  have  I 
saved  her  from  instant  death,  but  she  vet  remains  a 
nameless  stranger." 

"  So  far,"  replied  Graham,  "  fate  has  darkly  frowned  be- 
tween you  and  the  object  of  your  affections." 

"  I  must  submit  to  my  destiny,"  said  Edward. 

"What  fates  impose,  that  men  must  needs  abide, 
It  beats  not  to  resist  both  wind  and  tide." 

They  soon  reached  the  hotel,  and  after  tea  they  all 
mingled  in  rich  scenes  of  amusement.  Edward  joined  in 
all  the  sports  until  a  late  hour,  when  he  sat  down  alone  a 
silent  spectator  of  many  happy  faces.  It  is  well,  he 
thought,  that  they  are  able  to  enjoy  the  morning  of  life, 
for  the  pleasures  of  youth  will  soon  be  succeeded  by  the 


68  THE  SUNNY  LAND; 

cares  of  riper  years.  Heaven's  choicest  blessings  are 
now  showered  on  them  in  great  profusion,  but  the  rude 
blasts  of  adversity  are  sure  to  follow.  Kow  they  are  rev- 
elling in  the  spring  tide  of  youth,  but  summer,  autumn, 
and  cold,  bleak  and  dreary  winter,  Avill  come  with  its  nip- 
ping frosts  and  chilling  blasts. 

He  remained  quiet  and  thoughtful  for  a  few  moments, 
and  then  repeated  to  himself  the  following  lines : 

"  The  charm  of  youth  at  once  is  seen  and  past, 
And  nature  says  '  they  are  too  sweet  to  last ;' 
So  blooms  the  rose  and  so  the  blushing  maid, 
Be  gay,  too  soon  the  flowers  of  spring  will  fade." 

On  the  following  morning  all  the  excursionists  returned 
home,  except  Edward  and  Graham,  who  proceeded  to 
"  Caesar's  Head."  They  pursued  their  way  along  a  good 
turnpike  road  through  a  vast  bed  of  mountains,  and  in 
the  afternoon  reached  the  summit  of  the  Blue  Eidge,  form- 
ing the  boundary  line  between  North  and  South  Carolina, 
and  from  which  point  they  would  begin  to  descend  to- 
wards the  level  country  that  lay  south  of  this  range  of 
lofty  hills. 

"  We  are  now  in  the  State  of  South  Carolina,"  said  Ed- 
ward. 

"  A  game  State,"  replied  Graham.  "  I  have  always  ad- 
mired her  pluck.  When  Congress  undertook  to  impose 
on  her  a  high  protective  tariff  for  the  benefit  of  Northern 
manufacturers,  she  bid  defiance  to  '  all  the  powers  that  be.' " 

"  She  was  successful  in  her  nullification,"  said  Edward, 
''  notwithstanding  the  often  repeated  assertion  that  Presi- 
dent Jackson  swore  by  the  Eternal  he  would  execute  the 
unjust,  unconstitutional,  and  odious  law.  Henry  Clay's 
compromise,  so  called,  was  no  compromise,  for  it  granted 
South  Carolina  all  she  demanded.  Congress  was  wrong 
and  had  to  succumb." 

"  The  New  England  politicians,"  continued  Graham, 
"yet  talk  of  this  noble  act  as  treason.     They  are  entirely 


A    STORY   OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  69 

unmindful  of  those  of  their  own  misdeeds.  They  forget 
Shay's  rebellion  in  Massachusetts,  the  odious  Hartford 
Convention  and  the  whiskey  insurrection  in  Pennsylvania. 
They  do  not  consider  that  certain  laws  of  Congress  aro 
now  virtually  nullified  in  every  Northern  State." 

"  The  motes  in  their  own  eyes,"  said  Edward,  "prevent 
them  from  seeing  clearl}'"." 

They  now  came  to  a  vast  ledge  of  rocks  projecting 
from  the  mountain's  brow,  known  as  "  Ca3sar's  Head." 
They  instantly  concluded  they  would  have  a  view  of  this 
noted  place,  of  which  they  had  heard  so  much,  before  des- 
cending to  the  hotel,  some  distance  below;  and  having  se- 
cured their  horses,  they  walked  out  on  a  level  with  the 
road,  and  stood  on  the  verge  of  a  stupendous  precipice. 

"  "What  a  glorious  sight,"  exclaimed  Edward,  as  he  gazed 
into  the  deep  abyss,  where  he  could  see  the  top  of  lofty 
trees  far  beneath  his  feet ;  then  lifting  his  eyes  to  catch 
the  beauties  of  the  wide-spread  scenery,  he  continued  : 

"  What  a  lovely  land,  clothed  in  majestic  forests,  and 
dotted  over  with  extensive  plantations." 

To  the  east  and  the  west,  the  everlasting  mountains 
reared  their  towery  peaks  as  far  as  human  eye  could  reach, 
before  him  lay  the  level  country,  and  far  off  in  the  dis- 
tance he  could  trace  the  outlines  of  Greenville,  whose 
cupolas  and  spires  were  then  glittering  in  the  beams  of 
the  declining  sun. 

Graham  passed  on  down  the  side  of  the  mountain,  leav- 
ing his  companion  alone,  who  sat  down  and  began  to  muse 
on  these  gorgeous  works  of  nature.  This  lovely  .pano- 
rama was  congenial  to  his  tastes,  fascinated  his  spirit  and 
stirred  the  depths  of  his  soul.  To  him  these  stupendous 
hills,  these  dizzy  heights,  these  smiling  landscapes,  had  a 
peculiar  charm,  and  spoke  in  a  living  language  that  filled 
his  heart  with  pleasure.  He  was  enraptured,  entranced,  for 

«'  Where  rose  the  mountains,  there  to  him  were  friends, 
Where  stood  the  everlasting  hills  was  home." 


70  THE    SUNNY  LAND) 

Mingled  voices  now  fell  on  his  ears.  He  arose  to  his 
feet,  and  saw  an  advancing  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen. 
They  halted  a  short  distance  below,  and  stood  gazing  into 
the  wild  abyss,  as  if  unconscious  of  his  presence. 

A  moment  afterwards  Edward  saw  a  young  lady  leave 
this  group  of  visitors,  and  walk  towards  him  with  a  hesi- 
tating step,  as  if  half  inclined  to  return  to  her  compan- 
ions. He  instantly  recognized  her  graceful  form  and  ex- 
pressive features.  It  was  the  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains  " — 
the  unknown  stranger,  the  nameless  beauty,  the  ideal  of 
his  heart,  the  bright  morning  star  of  his  existence,  the 
centre  of  all  his  hopes  of  earthly  bliss. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  analyze  this  young  man's  feel- 
ings at  this  critical  moment.  He  was  certainly  in  a  con- 
dition to  realize  the  truth  expressed  by  Cowley, 

"  A  mighty  pain  to  love  it  is.'* 

The  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains  "  now  came  forward,  with 
a  smile  on  her  face  and  a  flush  on  her  cheeks,  and  said,  in 
a  low,  sweet  and  musical  voice  : 

"  Excuse  me ;  but  I  thought  I  recognized  you  as  " 

She  ceased  speaking,  hesitated,  blushed,  and  was  evi- 
dently at  a  loss  how  to  proceed.  She  could  find  no  words 
to  complete  the  sentence,  and  remained  silent. 

Edward  stood,  with  burning  face,  feeling  at  once  both 
happy  and  miserable.  The  enchanting  fairy  of  the  moun- 
tains was  in  his  presence,  yet  he  had  no  words  of  welcome. 
He  saw  the  necessity  of  speaking,  but  his  tongue  had  lost 
its  power  of  giving  utterance  to  his  thoughts. 

"  I  believe  we  once  met,"  continued  the  young  lady,  in 
touching  simplicity. 

""We  have,"  said  Edward,  "under  circumstances  that  I 
did  not  even  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  your  name." 

Again  the  rosy  hue  deepened  on  the  cheeks  of  the  "Belle 
of  the  Mountains,"  at  the  thought  of  introducing  herself  to 
this  handsome  stranger,  but  after  a  moment  she  said : 


A    STORY    OP   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  71 

"  Lena  Eston  is  my  name." 

''  Mine  is  Edward  Ashton." 

A  smile  broke  over  each  of  their  faces,  at  the  novelty  of 
this  introduction,  as  they  stood  there  on  the  summit  of 
"  Caesar's  Head,"  but  it  was  no  time  to  discuss  rules  of 
etiquette,  and  Lena  continued  : 

"  I  believe  you  once  were  instrumental  in  saving  my 
own  and  my  father's  life,  for  which  we  have  never  had  an 
opportunity  of  expressing  our  gratitude." 

"During  a  thunder  storm?" 

"We  were  then  returning  from  Montvale  Springs,"  she 
said,  and  then  added  abruptly,  "  did  you  ever  visit  that 
place?" 

"  Once,"  replied  Edward. 

"  I  think  I  met  you  there.'* 

"  You  felt  my  arm,"  thought  Edward,  but  he  only  said 
aloud,  "  perhaps  you  did." 

"  On  Chilhowee  mountain,"  she  contined. 

Edward  told  her  he  was  the  person  she  supposed  him 
to  be,  and  that  he  saw  her  fall  from  the  precipice. 

"  Then  you  have  twice  saved  my  life  !  "  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  extended  her  hand  towards  the  young  man,  who, 
perhaps,  gave  it  a  stronger  pressure  than  so  short  an  ac- 
quaintance would  justify. 

Graham  now  returned  and  was  duly  introduced  to  Miss 
Esten.  A  few  moments  afterwards  they  were  joined  by 
the  remainder  of  the  visitors,  who  proved  to  be  polite,  so- 
cial and  refined. 

Last  of  all,  Graham  Hardee  stood  before  Yenie  Ardin. 
He  was  pleased  with  her  manners,  attracted  by  her  beauty, 
and  soon  became  deeply  interested  in  a  conversation,  dur- 
ing which  she  proved  that  she  was  unusually  intelligent 
and  accomplished. 

An  hour  afterwards,  all  the  party  had  wandered  off  to 
other  portions  of  the  mountain  brow,  leaving  Graham  and 
Yenie  alone.     He  saw  that  she  was  beautiful,  and  felt 


72  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

that  there  was  a  magic  in  her  sparkling  eyes,  but  he  never 
dreamed  that  he  would  love  her  as  he  loved  no  other.  He 
was  careless  as  to  danger,  and  vainly  imagined  that  he  was 
able  to  withstand  every  charm. 

Here  they  remained  awaiting  the  return  of  their  friends, 
who  had  ascended  a  neighboring  eminence,  and  they  grad- 
ually became  silent  as  they  sat  surveying  the  surrounding 
scenery.  The  sun  was  then  sinking  behind  the  western 
hills,  and  casting  his  last  setting  rays  over  unnumbered 
mountains  that  reared  their  blue  heads  in  these  eternal 
solitudes  of  nature. 

"  A  lovely  prospect,"  said  Yenie,  as  she  gazed  at  the 
distant  mountains. 

"Magnificent,"  replied  Graham. 

"Full  of  inspiration,"  she  continued. 

G-raham  was  about  to  speak  again,  when  his  eyes  fell  on 
her  soul-lit  face,  now  sparkling  with  fresh  animation.  He 
forbore  to  interrupt  her  contemplations  and  his  words 
died  away  on  his  lips.  There  he  stood  in  silence,  watch- 
ing her  countenance  now  lighted  up  with  pleasant  emo- 
tions called  forth  by  the  beauty,  grandeur  and  sublimity 
of  the  distant  hills  spread  out  before  them  in  all  their 
matchless  glory,  and  the  sudden  conviction  entered  his 
mind  that  she  might  win  his  affections. 

"  No ;  it  must  not,  it  cannot,  it  shall  not  be,"  he  men- 
tally exclaimed,  "for  another  justly  claims  my  undivided 
heart." 

Again  he  considered  that  Yenie  was  yet  a  stranger  — 
that  he  was  ignorant  of  her  history,  and  that  like  himself, 
she  might  have  vowed  to  love  another.  He  knew  not 
that  he  was  then  treading  on  the  verge  of  a  fearful  preci- 
pice, and  that  he  was  about  to  be  entangled  in  the  meshes 
of  love.  Even  at  that  moment  he  found  himself  reflect- 
ing, that  if  they  had  met  in  past  years,  that  if  they  had 
lived  in  the  same  village  or  dwelt  by  neighboring  streams, 
that  they  might  have  been  more  to  each  other  than  friends. 
Even  now  he  might  have  exclaimed : 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  73 

"  'Tis  second  life  ;  it  grows  in  the  soul, 
Warms  every  vein  and  beats  in  every  pulse, 
I  feel  it  here  ;  my  resolution  melts." 

"  Are  you  dreaming,"  he  asked,  thereby  breaking  a  long 
silence. 

"  Only  thinking,"  she  replied. 

"  Of  the  joys  and  pleasures  of  life,"  he  continued. 

"  And  of  its  sorrows,"  she  added. 

It  was  well  that  Edward,  Lena,  and  some  of  their  friends 
now  returned,  and  interrupted  the  conversation  which 
was  beginning  to  grow  sentimental.  It  gave  Graham  time 
for  reflection,  and  enabled  him  to  school  his  wandering 
heart  and  to  return  to  his  first  allegiance. 


74  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 


CHAPTEE   X. 

Courtship's  Smiling  Days. 

Two  weeks  passed  away  at  "Cfesar's  Head" — two  weeks 
full  of  pleasure  —  two  weeks  of  unalloyed  happiness.  A 
small  circle  of  friends,  who  had  recently  met  as.  strangers, 
now  mingled  as  kindred  spirits,  and  were  united  by  many 
hallowed  associations  so  indellibly  impressed  upon  their 
minds,  that  they  could  never  be  forgotten.  Together  they 
planned  excursions,  rode  out  for  exercise,  or  wandered 
over  the  surrounding  mountains,  each  happy  in  the  pres- 
ent, and  unmindful  of  the  future. 

If  there  was  an  exception  in  this  pleasant  group  of 
friends,  it  was  G-raham  Hardee.  Sometimes  he  was  low 
spirited,  but  then  again  he  was  the  life  of  their  amuse- 
ments. Yenie  observed  his  changeable  moods  with  her 
usual  quick  perception,  but  did  not  suspicion  that  she  was, 
in  any  way,  the  innocent  cause.  She  soon  learned  that 
by  a  little  exertion  on  her  part,  she  co.uld  arouse  him  from 
his  fits  of  abstraction,  and  rarely  ever  permitted  him  to 
wear  a  sad  countenance. 

"  These  are  the  charming  agencies  of  love 
Whose  misery  delights." 

One  day  Edward  and  Graham  joined  a  hunting  party, 
leaving  the  ladies  to  enjoy  themselves  without  their  assis- 
tance. Lena  Eston  and  her  cousin  were  together  as  usual, 
and  spent  a  few  hours  in  pleasant  conversation,  after 
which  they  sat  a  long  time  in  silence.  Yenie  was  first  to 
interrupt  her  cousin's  reverie. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  75 

"How,"  she  inquired,  "are  we  to  sjDend  this  afternoon." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Lena. 

"  The  'Belle  of  the  Mountains,'"  continued  Yenie,  with  a 
smile,  "  should  be  able  to  devise  ways  and  means." 

"Why  not  the  '  Flower  of  the  Mountains?'  " 

Yenie  blushed  at  this  reference  to  a  name  Graham  had 
given  her  on  the  previous  day. 

"I  do  not  like  that  title,"  she  said.  "Flowers  only 
bloom  a  short  season  and  then  pass  away ;  so  may  we 
and  all  we  love,"  she  added  solemnly. 

"  Our  fondest  hopes  are  first  to  fade,"  replied  Lena. 

"  I  sometimes  wish  I  could  withdraw  the  curtain  which 
hides  futurity,  and  read  my  destiny,"  continued  Yenie. 

"I  would  not  like  to  know  my  fate,"  replied  Lena. 

"  It  would  certainly  not  increase  our  happiness,"  said 
her  friend. 

"Listen,"  continued  Lena,  "to  Dryden,"  and  taking  a 
volume  from  the  table  she  read  — 

*'  Too  curious  man,  why  dost  thou  seek  to  know 
Events  which  good  or  ill,  foreknown  are  woe." 

"  That  says  ma/i,"  exclaimed  Yenie,  interrupting  her 
cousin  ;  and  then  continued  : 

"  Our  sex  possesses  more  curiosity,  and  are  excusable  for 
attempting  to  pry  into  the  future ;  but  proceed."  Lena 
then  concluded  with  the  lines  — 

"  Even  joys  foreseen  give  pleasing  hope  no  room 
And  griefs  assured  are  felt  before  they  come." 

"Suppose,"  said  Yenie,  "we  call  on  Deb  Mathers  and 
hear  our  fortunes.     They  say  she  is  a  perfect  old  witch." 

"  I  do  not  believe  in  such  nonsense,"  replied  Lena. 

"We  read  of  witches  in  the  Bible,"  continued  Yenie, 
with  a  smile,  "  and  the  good  people  of  New  England  burned 
a  number  more.  Perhaps  Deb,  the  prophetess,  is  an- 
other." 


76  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

"  I  will  go  with  you  for  the  sake  of  amusement,"  said 
Lena. 

"  We  can  be  ready  in  ten  minutes,"  added  Yenie,  and 
without  further  debate,  they  began  to  prepare  for  their 
journey. 

Many  years  previous  to  this  period,  Deb  Mathers  — 
Deb,  the  witch,  or  Deb,  the  mountain  prophetess,  as  she 
was  generally  known,  had  resided  in  Boston,  the  hub  of 
the  universe,  where  she  had  done  a  thriving  business  at 
fortune-telling.  A  wealthy  nabob,  of  the  radical  school  of 
New  England  piety,  set  her  up  in  a  fine  establishment,  but 
managed  in  the  end,  to  swindle  her  out  of  the  most  of  the 
proceeds.  She  then  opened  a  new  house,  and  by  shedding 
additional  light  on  this  supposed  city  of  modern  light,  she 
soon  accumulated  a  few  hundred  dollars.  She  finally  grew 
weary  of  this  location,  and  found  her  way  into  the  moun- 
tains of  Carolina.  Pleased  with  the  romantic  beauty  of 
this  region,  she  purchased  a  few  acres  of  broken  lands,  and 
had  a  small  dwelling  erected.  Here  she  lived  alone  com- 
pletely isolated  from  the  remainder  of  the  world.  Compar- 
atively little  was  known  of  her  by  her  neighbors,  but  as  she 
pretended  to  be  able  to  reveal  future  events,  the  ignorant 
regarded  her  as  possessing  supernatural  powers.  The  ra- 
vine in  which  she  resided,  at  the  foot  of  a  towering  moun- 
tain, was  reported  to  be  haunted.  It  was  generally  be- 
lieved that  ghosts  were  often  seen  stalking  about  her  abode, 
and  such  fearful  incidents  were  related,  that  at  this  period 
even  the  boldest  sportsman  would  avoid  "Deb's  hollow" 
after  the  shades  of  night  had  gathered  over  the  neighbor- 
ing hills. 

Yenie  and  her  cousin  having  once  passed  the  rude  dwelling 
of  Deb,  the  prophetess,  imagined  it  was  no  great  distance 
from  "  Caesar's  Head,"  and  supposed  they  could  follow  the 
mountain  path  to  it  without  difiiculty.  The  afternoon 
was  considerably  advanced  when  they  set  out  on  their 
journey.     They  followed  an  excellent  turnpike  some  dis- 


A    STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  77 

tance,  then  turned  to  the  right  and  pursued  a  narrow  path 
that  lay  along  a  small  stream,  which  was  overhung  by  a 
thick  growth  of  laurel,  and  overshadowed  by  a  lofty 
mountain. 

"  What,'^  said  Yenie,  "  would  we  do  if  we  should  lose 
our  way  in  this  wild  region/' 

"  Oh !  do  not  talk  about  it,"  replied  Lena. 

"  Or  wake  up  a  rattlesnake  !  ^' 

"  Don't  name  it,"  cried  Lena,  "  for  it  makes  the  cold 
chills  run  over  me  to  think  of  it." 

"  Or  meet  with  a  bear,  and  be  pursued  by  a  pack  of  hun- 
gry wolves !  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  them,"  said  Lena,  in  an  imploring  tone. 

They  walked  on  in  silence  through  this  dreary  spot, 
each  secretly  wishing  they  had  never  heard  of  Deb,  the 
prophetess,  and  they  had  not  advanced  much  farther, 
when  they  were  startled  by  a  sudden  peal  of  thunder. 
They  hastened  forward,  and  soon  reached  a  point  from 
which  they  could  see  a  stormy  cloud  curling  along  the 
brow  of  the  adjacent  mountain. 

It  began  to  grow  dark.  The  storm  seemed  about  to 
burst  forth  in  ruthless  grandeur.  It  was  a  terrible  thought 
to  these  young  ladies  to  be  thus  exposed  to  a  furious  tem- 
pest, when  all  alone  and  unprotected. 

"  Suppose  we  return,"  said  Lena,  with  a  troubled  coun- 
tenance. 

Yenie  looked  at  the  lowering  heavens,  and  then  replied  ; 

"  We  would  be  overtaken  by  the  storm  before  we  could 
reach  the  hotel.  We  must  be  near  the  witch's  home.  I 
think  we  should  proceed  as  fast  as  possible." 

They  now  walked  on,  hoping  yet  to  escape,  and  soon 
reached  the  cheerless  dwelling  of  the  mountain  Sibyl,  who 
bade  them  enter  with  a  coarse,  screaking  and  harsh  voice. 
They  did  as  invited  with  trembling  steps,  and  a  moment 
afterwards  stood  in  the  presence  of  Deb  Mathers,  who 
motioned  them  to  be  seated,  and  carelessly  turned  away, 
as  if  she  had  no  visitors  to  entertain. 


78  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ] 

"  I  think  we  are  about  to  have  a  storm,"  said  Yenie. 

The  old  Sibyl,  without  deigning  to  reply,  quietly  sat 
down  at  a  window  from  whence  she  had  a  fine  view  of  the 
stormy  clouds,  and  gazed  at  the  angry  heavens,  which 
then  presented  a  grand  and  magnificent  spectacle.  A 
deep  awe  seemed  to  rest  upon  her  coarse  and  haggard  fea- 
tures, and  she  finally  broke  forth  as  if  communing  with 
her  own  spirit,  apparently  unconscious  that  others  were 
present : 

"  The  winds  will  roar,  the  lightnings  will  flash,  and 
thunderbolts  will  shake  the  everlasting  hills." 

She  had  scarcely  uttered  these  words,  when  there  came 
a  blinding  flash  of  lightning,  accompanied  by  a  loud  peal 
of  thunder,  which  seemed  to  re-echo  from  every  hill  and 
mountain  gorge.  The  moment  the  last  notes  of  thunder 
had  ceased,  the  Sibyl  continued : 

"  Ah !  I  beheld  the  vivid  sheet  of  fire  as  it  flashed  over 
that  craggy  steep.  Now  the  mountains  groan  and  rivers 
of  water  are  streaming  down  the  deep  ravines." 

The  two  cousins  sat  in  silence,  ready  to  sink  with  ter- 
ror. The  roar  of  the  terrific  storm  without  —  the  echo  of 
successive  peals  of  thunder  —  the  clash  of  the  warring  ele- 
ments —  above  all  this,  a  strange  being,  supposed  to  pos- 
sess supernatural  powers  —  all  combined  to  make  them 
tremble  with  indescribable  fear.     Again  the  Sibyl  spoke  : 

"  The  fiends  are  battling  in  the  clouds.  They  hurl  their 
fiery  darts  .     Listen  !  the  heavens  groan." 

Thus  the  "  Mountain  Prophetess "  continued  to  rave, 
until  the  storm  began  to  abate,  when  she  quietly  turned 
from  the  window  and  surveyed  her  frightened  visitors. 
After  a  few  moments  she  said,  addressing  Yenie, 

"You  wish  to  know  your  future  ?  " 

She  did  not  give  the  startled  girl  time  to  reply,  but  pro- 
ceeded with  her  enchantments,  muttering  to  herself  some 
wild  and  incoherent  words.  Finally  she  appeared  to  have 
received  a  message  from  the  world  of  Infernal  Spirits, 
and  continued  — 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  79 

"  You  were  born  under  a  propitious  star.  Your  only 
trouble  has  been  the  loss  of  some  friends.  You  love  and 
are  loved  in  return.  This  is  the  beginning  of  sorrow.  A 
pale  but  beautiful  blonde  intervenes.  You  will  endure 
much  trouble.  You  will  shed  tears  —  many  bitter  tears. 
I  see  blood !  blood !  human  blood !  " 

*'Say  no  more,"  exclaimed  Yenie,  in  wild  accents,  "I 
cannot  bear  it." 

The  Sibyl  continued,  without  regarding  her  terror — 

"  Yes,  I  see  it  all ;  the  man  you  love  lies  helpless,  bleed- 
ing." 

Again  Yenie  begged  the  woman  to  cease  her  pretended 
revelations,  and  she  replied  in  a  milder  tone  — 

"Mark  my  words,  you  will  see  much  trouble,  and  be 
blessed  with  much  happiness." 

The  Sibyl  was  silent  a  few  moments,  when  she  turned 
to  Lena  and  said : 

"  You  have  been  reared  like  a  tender  plant,  protected 
from  the  rude  blasts  of  this  world,  but  a  season  of  trouble 
approaches.  A  woman  —  your  professed  friend,  is  a  bitter 
enemy.  Few  are  the  tears  you  have  shed,  but  the  day 
will  come  when  no  one  can  give  you  comfort.  A  wide 
gulf  will  separate  you  from  one  you  love.  That  man  you 
adore  will  see  many  dreary  hours,  and  his  path  will  be 
strewn  with  dead  bodies !  " 

"  Do  not  tell  me  more,"  exclaimed  Lena,  springing  to 
her  feet,  trembling  at  the  horrors  revealed,  and  in  order 
to  put  an  end  to  the  exciting  scene,  she  turned  away  and 
walked  to  the  window.  She  was  now  alarmed  to  see  that 
it  was  already  beginning  to  grow  dark. 

"  Yenie,"  she  said,  "  it  is  almost  night." 

"Almost,"  repeated  her  cousin,  "  what  shall  we  do?" 

"It  is  yet  raining,"  added  Lena. 

"  Oh,  it  is  terrible,"  exclaimed  Yenie,  "  no  one  at  the 
hotel  knows  where  we  are." 

"  Oh,  horror !  shall  we  be  compelled  to  remain  here," 
cried  Lena,  more  and  more  alarmed. 


80  THE    SUNNY  LAND  ; 

They  now  eat  down  in  despair,  a  prey  to  the  most 
gloomy  forebodings.  A  moment  afterwards  the  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  three  men  entered,  dripping  with  the 
rain. 

It  was  Edward  Ashton,  Graham  Hardee,  and  a  friend 
who  had  accompanied  them  when  they  started  on  the 
hunting  incursion.  They  had  been  overtaken  by  the 
storm,  lost  their  way,  and  accidentally  reached  the  house 
of  the  Sibyl.  Mutual  explanations  were  made,  and  when 
the  rain  had  ceased,  they  all  returned  in  safety  to  "  Caesar's 
Head,"  laughing  at  this  wild  adventure,  long  to  be  remem- 
bered. 

James  Eston  returned  from  his  visit  to  the  interior  of 
South  Carolina,  and  formed  the  acquaintance  of  Edward 
and  Graham  —  whom  he  invited  to  his  country  seat.  Two 
days  afterwards,  the  whole  party  proceeded  to  "  Chola," 
where  these  young  men  found  the  most  delightful  spot 
they  had  ever  visited. 

Day  after  day  now  passed  in  unalloyed  pleasure.  They 
were  happy  and  contented,  and,  notwithstanding  the  time 
had  come  when  they  should  set  out  for  jSTashville,  they 
lingered  in  this  Eden  home. 

Like  all  earthly  pleasures,  their  protracted  visit  came 
to  an  end.  They  were  about  to  bid  adieu  to  "Chola,'* 
and  were  wandering  for  the  last  time  through  these  en- 
chanting bowers,  where  they  had  already  spent  so  many 
happy  hours. 

Graham  Hardee  was  troubled,  and  perplexed  as  to  how 
he  should  act  in  the  final  conference.  Yenie  had  won  his 
heart,  and  he  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  was  highly 
esteemed  and  perhaps  loved,  but  his  lips  were  sealed.  He 
would  not  prove  faithless  to  another.  They  sat  alone, 
and  talked  of  the  past,  present  and  future,  each  endeavor- 
ing to  hide  a  tenderness  which  could  not  be  concealed. 
They  each  might  have  owned  a  mutual  flame  of  \ov& 
which  burned  in  their  hearts. 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  81 

"You  promised,"  said  Graham,  "to  tell  me  what  the 
mountain  Sibyl  revealed.  This  will  be  your  last  oppor- 
tunity." 

"  Did  I,"  asked  Yenie,  thoughtfully. 

"  Be  faithful  to  your  promise." 

"  I  will,"  replied  Yenie. 

She  now  related  truthfully  all  that  had  been  said  on 
that  occasion;  and  when  she  spoke  of  the  blonde  who  stood 
between  her  and  the  one  she  loved,  a  deep  shadow  gath- 
ered over  Graham's  expressive  features.  Yenie  saw  the 
eifect  these  words  had  on  the  young  man,  and  believed 
that  some  unknown  barrier  now  intervened  and  would 
separate  them  perhaps  forever. 

Graham  was  silent  a  few  moments,  busy  with  his  own 
reflections,  when  he  observed  a  sadness  stealing  over 
Yenie's  beautiful  face.  He  knew  she  had  read  the  secret 
of  his  heart,  but  he  durst  not  explain  his  unhappy  posi- 
tion. Come  weal  or  woe,  happiness  or  misery,  he  must 
act  honorably.  He  was  confident  that  with  a  single  word 
he  could  render  the  fair  creature  before  him  the  happiest 
of  mortals;  but  this  could  not  be  spoken.  The  once  loved 
image  of  Jennie,  so  gentle,  so  kind  and  truthful,  like  a 
guardian  angel,  stood  in  his  way  and  bade  him  remain 
silent. 

The  affecting  scene  through  which  he  was  passing  re- 
called the  well-known  lines : 

"Can  T  behold  thee  and  not  speak  my  love, 
E'en  now  thus  sadly  as  thou  stand' st  before  me, 
Thus  desolate,  dejected  and  forlorn 
Thy  softness  steals  upon  my  yielding  senses, 
Till  my  soul  faints  and  sickens  with  desire." 

Let  us  now  turn  to  another  scene  which  occurred  in  the 
same  vine-clad  arbor,  where  we  first  introduced  to  the 
reader  the  unknown  beauty  under  her  real  name. 

"Lena,"  said  Edward,  "  I  will  leave  you  in  a  few  hours, 
A  short  time  ago  we  met  as  strangers,  and  I  soon  learned 
4* 


82  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

to  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  You  know  nothing  of  my 
people,  of  my  life,  of  my  past  history.  I  have  no  fortune, 
but  all  that  1  am  I  offer  you.  I  do  not  ask  for  a  final  an- 
swer at  present.  If  you  desire  to  see  me  again,  give  me 
permission  to  visit  you,  at  this  place,  and  I  will  do  so  with 
the  greatest  pleasure ;  but  if  not,  tell  me  frankly  and  we 
will  part  forever." 

Edward  took  a  delicate  and  unresisting  hand  into  his 
own,  and  a  moment  afterwards  the  blushing  Lena  said  in 
a  low,  sweet  voice :  "  I  would  be  pleased  to  see  you 
again." 

Let  the  curtain  fall  on  this  scene  of  sacred,  pure  and 
heartfelt  love.  Let  us  leave  them  alone,  in  sweet  and 
tender  confidence,  for  their  heavens  will  yet  be  overcast 
by  an  impenetrable  gloom,  and  their  smiles  of  joy  will  be 
succeeded  by  tears  of  woe. 

These  young  men  returned  to  Laurel  Hill,  where  they 
remained  a  short  time  with  their  friends.  Finding  Pat- 
rick Megram  well  satisfied  with  his  employer,  they  left 
him  at  this  place  and  set  out  for  home. 

Two  weeks  afterwards  they  reached  IS'ashville.  They 
had  only  been  absent  a  short  period,  but  this  had  sufficed 
to  work  a  great  change  on  the  feelings,  hopes  and  desires 
of  their  hearts. 

We  are  all  changeable  creatures.  We  live  in  a  change- 
able world.  The  sun  rises  and  sets ;  the  tide  ebbs  and 
flows  ;  the  moon,  stars  and  all  the  heavenly  bodies  change. 
All  nature  changes,  and  in  many  respects  we  are  no  ex- 
ception to  this  universal  law  pervading  both  the  animate 
and  the  inanimate  world. 


A    STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  83 


CHAPTEE   XI. 

Three  Interesting  Scenes. 

"  So,  Hiram,  you  are  to  be  married  on  to-morrow,"  said 
a  middle  aged  lady  of  the  Queen  city. 

*'  Indeed  Aunt  I  am." 

"To  the  'belle  of  two  cities?'" 

"  To  the  beautiful  Pennie." 

"Supposed  to  be  rich?" 

"  Her  father  is  wealthy." 

"As  you  imagine,  but  your  Aunt  knows  better." 

"  What!  August  Eaymond  not  rich?"  he  exclaimed. 

"  He  would  be  as  poor  as  Job's  turkey,  if  his  debts  were 
paid,"  she  replied,  in  a  positive  tone. 

The  above  conversation  occurred  between  Hiram  Pike 
and  his  Aunt  Lucy  Bunting,  a  very  knowing  lady,  upon 
whom  he  had  called,  in  order  to  make  a  short  visit.  He 
was  utterly  confounded  with  her  words,  but  after  a  mo- 
ment of  reflection,  he  continued  : 

"You  must  be  mistaken." 

"  If  you  do  not  believe  it,  call  on  Messrs.  Henderson  & 
Co.,  bankers,  who  informed  my  husband  that  Messrs.  Eay- 
mond &  Co.  must  soon  fail." 

"  They  may  have  been  misinformed,"  suggested  Hiram. 

«'  I  have  additional  evidence,"  continued  Mrs.  Bunting. 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Pennie  told  Miss  Lou  Merton,  her  confidential  friend, 
that  she  did  not  love  you,  but  as  you  were  rich  and  as  her 


84:  THE    SUNNY  LAND  J 

father  was  somewhat  embarrassed,  she  had  concluded  to 
accept  you  as  a  choice  of  evils." 

This  last  statement  was  a  stunning  blow  to  Hiram's  pride. 
He  strode  out  of  the  presence  of  his  Aunt,  mad  with  con- 
flicting passions  and  full  of  indignation.  When  he  had 
reached  the  street,  he  rapidly  walked  towards  the  resi- 
dence of  August  Eaymond,  but  suddenly  changed  his 
course,  and  called  on  one  of  the  firm  of  Henderson  &  Co. 
Here  his  worst  fears  were  confirmed,  for  he  was  told  in 
confidence  that  the  firm  of  Eaymond  &  Co.  were  in  a  des- 
perate condition. 

Hiram  began  to  consider  what  course  he  should  pursue 
in  the  present  emergency.  He  had  endorsed,  for  his  in- 
tended father-in-law,  to  the  amount  of  twenty  thousand 
dollars,  which  sum  he  now  supposed  would  be  lost.  It 
was  notorious  that  the  marriage  ceremony  was  to  be  per- 
formed on  the  following  day,  but  notwithstanding  this,  he 
was  not  disposed  to  take  a  beautiful  but  penniless  bride. 
Being  excited  and  in  no  condition  for  calm  reflection,  he 
proceeded  to  Mr.  Raymond's  house,  becoming  more  and  more 
indignant  at  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  deceived. 
He  rang  the  bell  with  great  violence,  which  brought  an  as- 
tonished servant  to  the  door,  whom  he  suddenly  strode 
past,  and  entered  the  parlor  in  a  most  unceremonious  man- 
ner. He  was  vexed  at  his  own  blindness  —  vexed  at  the 
loss  of  twenty  thousand  dollars,  and  vexed  at  the  publici- 
ty given  to  the  intended  marriage,  yet  he  could  do  noth- 
ing more  but  gnash  his  teeth  in  impotent  rage. 

In  a  few  moments  Pennie  came  sweeping  into  the  par- 
lor arrayed  in  costly  attire,  and  advanced  with  one  of  her 
sweetest  smiles  to  greet  the  man  she  utterly  despised,  but 
had  promised  to  wed  on  account  of  his  wealth.  At  a 
glance  she  saw  that  all  was  not  right,  and  that  for  some 
reason  he  was  in  a  sullen  mood.  She  observed  his  con- 
tracted brow  and  the  dark  and  sinister  expression  which 
marked  his  countenance.     In  a  moment  the  smile  faded 


A    STORY   OF   TUE   CRUEL   WAR.  85 

from  the  lips  of  this  queenly  beauty,  and  she  stood  mo- 
tionless like  a  dumb  statue,  with  her  hand  half  extended, 
and  finally  said : 

"  Dear  Hiram,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Matter,"  he  repeated  mechanically,  then  after  a  mo- 
ment he  added  in  a  cold  and  freezing  tone,  "be  seated  and 
I  will  tell  you/' 

"  Pray  exj^lain,"  she  continued. 

"  I  will,"  said  Hiram,  "  in  the  most  distant  manner,"  and 
then  added  bitterly,  "  you  have  deceived  me." 

"  Wherein,"  she  asked  eagerly,  with  a  flushed  face. 

"  I  have  learned  that  your  father  is  about  to  become  a 
bankrupt/* 

''  Indeed." 

"  That  you  knew  it." 

"  Suppose  it  is  true  ?  " 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  of  it." 

"Is  that  all,  Mr.  Pike?" 

"It  is  sufficient." 

"  Sufficient  for  what  ?  " 

"  To  bring  our  engagement  to  a  close,  knowing  as  I  do 
that  you  only  wished  to  marry  me  for  my  property." 

The  tongue  of  the  "belle  of  two  cities"  was  now  unloosed. 
She  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  with  the  dignity  she  knew 
so  well  how  to  assume,  broke  forth  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony  : 

"  Deceived  you!  "  she  exclaimed,  "was  it  my  business 
to  reveal  to  you  the  secrets  of  Eaymond  &  Co. ;  was  it  my 
duty  to  furnish  you  with  the  inventory  of  my  father's  lia- 
bilities. It  is  plain  you  never  loved  me,  and  only  wished 
to  obtain  the  property  you  supposed  I  would  inherit.  I 
hate  and  despise  you.  Go,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  door 
with  mingled  scorn  and  contempt  written  on  every  linea- 
ment of  her  fair  face.     "  Leave  me  forever." 

An  hour  afterwards,  Hiram  Pike  was  in  the  bar-room 
of  the  Spencer  House,  in  company  with  two  of  his  boon 


86  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 

companions.  He  rarely  ever  became  intoxicated,  lest  it 
might  injure  his  standing  in  that  political  brothel  called  a 
church,  to  which  he  belonged,  and  was  an  active  member, 
supposed  to  be  confirmed  in  every  good  word  and  work ; 
but  he  drank  more  freely  than  usual  on  this  night,  proba- 
bly in  order  to  drown  the  vivid  and  unpleasant  impres- 
sions Pennie  had  made  on  his  mind.  After  they  had  emp- 
tied their  glasses  for  the  third  time,  and  lighted  fresh 
segars,  they  adjourned  to  a  private  apartment,  where 
they  might  converse  without  interruption. 

•'So,  Hiram,  you  think  of  going  South  again?"  said  a 
thick,  heavy  set,  sandy-haired,  and  red  complected  young 
man,  who  was  somewhat  extravagantly  dressed,  and 
known  in  the  circle  of  city  sports  as  Marvel  Puffaway. 

"  Eight  off  at  once,"  exclaimed  Campbell  Fukey,  a  tall, 
lean,  hungry  looking  individual,  about  thirty  years  of  age, 
who  was  rigged  out  in  a  new  fancy  suit  and  displayed  an 
unusual  amount  of  jewelry. 

•'  I  think  of  going  next  week,"  said  Hiram  Pike.  ''  I 
promised  the  committee  of  the  '  Liberty  Society,'  to  give 
them  an  answer  in  a  few  days.  I  did  freedom's  glorious 
cause  good  service  when  in  East  Tennessee,  and  they  are 
anxious  to  have  me  try  it  again." 

"You  are  the  man  for  those  stupid  slaveholders,"  said 
Mr.  Puffaway. 

"Yes,  by  hokey,  I  say  stir  them  up,"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Pukey,  who  was  beginning  to  feel  the  liquor  he  had  swal- 
lowed. "  I  say  give  them  Jesse  by  ghost  of  old  John 
Brown,"  he  continued  with  a  furious  oath. 

''  Groad  them  into  a  fight,  is  my  motto,"  added  Hiram 
Pike. 

"  Let  them  fight  if  they  dare,"  exclaimed  Mr,  Puffaway, 
with  an  oath.  "  I  can  take  one  regiment  made  up  in  this 
crty,  and  march  to  Mobile  in  spite  of  all  the  task-masters 
im  the  South." 

*'  That's  so,"  cried  the  drunken  Campbell  Fukey. 


A   STORY   OF  THE   CRUEL   WAR.  87 

"  If  they  do  cause  a  fuss  sufficient  to  give  us  an  excuse 
to  commence,"  said  Hiram,  "we  will  slash  them  out  some 
morning  before  breakfast." 

"Is  it  true  that  you  are  not  going  to  be  married/* 
asked  Mr.  Puffaway,  interrupting  the  conversation. 

"  True  as  gospel,"  replied  Hiram. 

"  I  would  like  to  spark  that  belle  myself,"  said  Campbell. 
"  I  think  I  will  try  her.     Oh,  lorda,  I  will." 

"  You  will  get  kicked  again,"  suggested  Marvel. 

"  It  is  a  lie,"  exclaimed  Campbell,  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
"I  was  never  sacked  in  my  life." 

"  Don't  you  give  me  the  lie,"  cried  Marvel,  springing  to 
his  feet. 

"  You  are  a  liar,"  said  Campbell,  rising. 

"  Take  it  back." 

"I  wont." 

*' You  shall." 

"  You  can't  make  me." 

"  I'll  slash  you." 

Pistols  and  knives  were  drawn,  and  furious  oaths  were 
poured  forth  incessantly.  Hiram  who  was  not  so  drunk 
as  his  companions,  endeavored  in  vain  to  restore  order ; 
but  they  only  raved,  ranted  and  swore  the  louder,  until 
the  door  opened,  and  three  policemen  entered. 

"  Halt ! "  cried  the  intoxicated  Campbell,  addressing 
these  guardians  of  the  night.  "  Halt !  "  he  continued, 
presenting  a  pistol,  "  or  I  will  blow  out  your  brains. 
Halt !  I  will  send  you  to  kingdom  come.  Let  us  put 
them  out,'^  he  added,  addressing  his  companions  with  a 
fearful  oath. 

Seeing  the  policemen  advancing,  he  fired,  but  the  ball 
missed  the  mark,  and  a  few  moments  afterwards  the  three 
bachannalian  revelers  found  themselves  in  the  firm  grip 
of  the  city  officials. 

"I  am  not  to  blame,"  said  Hiram  Pike,  somewhat 
sobered  by  this  unexpected  misfortune. 


88  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"  Whose  room  is  this/'  inquired  his  custodian. 

"  Mr.  Puffaway's/'  rej^lied  Hiram. 

"How  came  you  to  be  here  at  this  late  hour,"  he  said 
sternly.      "  You  must  go  to  the  watch-house." 

Hiram  reflected  a  moment  how  he  could  avoid  such  a 
disgraceful  exposure.  It  would  not  do  to  suffer  the  an- 
nouncement to  be  made  in  the  morning  papers.  He  must 
invent  some  plan  to  prevent  a  pious  member  like  himself, 
of  the  great  anti-slavery  church,  from  being  brought  into 
disrepute.  He  now  turned  to  the  policeman,  and  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  his  ear ;  and  whatsoever  may  have 
been  the  nature  of  this  communication,  it  certainly  had  the 
desired  effect.  The  official  bowed  with  humble  respect  to 
the  well  known  champion  of  universal  freedom  and  negro 
equality,  who  was  immediately  set  at  liberty,  whilst  his 
companions  were  hurried  off  to  answer  for  their  misdeeds. 

*  *  :)c  ;jc  :{c  :(: 

We  now  turn  to  the  last  scene  of  this  eventful  night. 
Darkness  yet  brooded  like  a  gloomy  pall  over  the  Queen 
City  of  the  West.  The  full  orbed  moon  arose  in  all  her 
6j)lendor,  bathing  the  world  in  her  soft  liquid  light,  and 
the  deep  blue  sky  glittered  with  unnumbered  stars,  which 
sparkled  like  brilliant  gems  throughout  the  wide  spread 
canopy  of  the  heavens.  The  vast  multitude  were  now  re-, 
posing  in  unconscious  slumber,  ready  to  spring  into  fresh 
life  with  the  new  day.  The  streets  were  deserted,  and 
not  a  sound  arose  on  the  still  air  to  disturb  this  silent 
hour  except  the  occasional  echo  of  straggling  feet  along 
the  quiet  thoroughfare,  or  the  puff  of  some  distant  engine 
over  the  waters  of  the  majestic  Ohio. 

Let  us  enter  that  spacious  mansion  —  the  well-known 
residence  of  Hiram  Pike,  which  stood  on  a  beautiful  ave- 
nue of  the  Queen  City,  and  reared  its  gray  walls  far 
above  the  surrounding  aristocratic  dwellings  of  his 
wealthy  neighbors.  The  lights  were  yet  burning  in  the 
halls  of  this  gorgeous  palace,  recently  furnished  in  great 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  89 

splendor  with  a  vicAv  of  pleasing  the  tastes  of  the  fair 
"belle  of  two  cities."  On  the  second  floor  of  this  estab- 
lisment  was  a  handsome  apartment,  now  dimly  lighted  by 
the  burning  gas,  revealing  the  recumbent  form  of  Hiram, 
as  he  lay  slumbering  on  a  soft  spring  mattrass,  with  his 
head  half  buried  in  a  downy  pillow,  resting  his  weary 
limbs  after  the  long  carousal  in  which  he  had  indulged. 

Suddenly  he  moves  uneasily  in  his  slumber,  and  his 
features  become  contracted.  The  feelings  and  thoughts 
of  years  are  condensed  in  one  frightful  vision.  A  dark, 
dim,  and  unseemly  ghost  arises  at  his  bedside.  It  fixes 
on  him  its  fiery  eye-balls,  and  points  its  long,  bony  fin- 
gers, and  seems  to  say,  thou  art  the  murderer.  It  lifts  its 
low,  mournful  voice  like  the  moan  of  distant  winds.  The 
half  unconscious  sleeper  struggles  as  if  wrestling  with  a 
fearful  nightmare,  and  groans  as  if  tortured  and  sinking 
beneath  some  resistless  burden. 

Again  the  haggard  face  disappears,  and  in  its  place  he 
beheld  an  aged  man  with  venerable  locks  stained  with 
blood.  A  beautiful  girl  followed  this  dim  spectre,  wear- 
ing a  pale,  saddened,  tearless  face,  who  was  succeeded  by 
a  blood-stained  assassin,  with  a  drawn  dagger  ready  to 
plunge  it  into  his  vitals. 

Hiram  uttered  a  deep  groan,  and  muttered  "Away! 
away!  ye  fiends!  ye  infernal  spirits."  He  sprang  up 
with  a  wild  shriek,  seized  his  revolvers,  and  gazed  around 
the  room  with  a  look  which  bespoke  the  deep  agony  of 
his  tortured  soul.  Then  after  a  few  moments,  when 
he  had  somewhat  recovered  his  composure,  he  exclaimed  : 
"  It  was  but  a  dream — -a  horrible  vision  of  a  stalking 
spectre,  grinning  at  me  like  death,  pointing  to  my  doom, 
and  making  me  feel  that  perhaps — 

"  My  time  is  almost  come 
When  to  sulphurous  and  tormenting  flames 
Must  render  up  myself." 


90  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 


CHAPTER   XII. 

A  Border  Ruffian  visits  Chola. 

The  first  frosts  of  November  had  fallen.  A  blue  smoky 
haze  hung  like  a  gloomy  pall  over  the  woods  of  "  Chola." 
The  towering  oaks  had  put  on  their  crimson  robes  —  the 
maples  were  casting  off  their  yellow  leaves,  and  the  green 
foliage  of  summer  had  already  withered,  at  the  approach 
of  dreary  winter.  The  decaying  vegetation  gave  to  every 
thing  a  mournful  aspect,  and  was  a  fit  emblem  of  man's 
short,  feverish  existence  on  earth  —  "who  cometh  forth  as  a 
flower  and  is  cut  down  —  who  fleeth  as  a  shadow  and  con- 
tinueth  not." 

Lena  Eston  and  Yenie  Ardin  might  have  been  seen 
strolling  along  the  banks  of  "  Mills  Eiver,"  each  sad,  silent 
and  melancholy.  That  ceaseless  flow  of  spirits  for  which 
they  had  once  been  remarkable  had  passed  away,  and  they 
were  now  thoughtful  and  gloomy,  without  being  able  to 
account  for  their  unusual  depression.  Finally  they  sat 
down  on  the  bank  of  this  sparkling  stream  to  rest ;  and 
Lena  said : 

"  Beautiful  river !  flowing  on  forever,  an  emblem  of  life's 
ceaseless  current." 

"  Gliding  on  swiftly,"  replied  Yenie  ;  "  and  thus  our 
lives  are  passing  away.  Like  it  we  will  soon  roll  into  the 
great  ocean  of  eternity." 

"  We  may  shortly  be  there,"  continued  Lena,  solemnly. 
"  The  times  are  ominous  of  approaching  evil.  The  land  is 
full  of  commotions." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  91 

"  "We  can  only  hope  that  these  gathering  storms  will 
soon  disperse." 

"  I  feel  sad,"  continued  Lena,  "  but  I  know  not  why." 

"  You  should  be  happy,  for  Edward  loves  you,  and  will 
soon  return.  No  blonde,"  she  added,  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  intervenes." 

"Dear  cousin,"  she  replied,  "the  blonde  was  nothing 
more  than  an  idle  vagary  of  the  'Mountain  Prophet- 
ess.' " 

"  I  know,"  replied  Yenie,  "  that  no  one  can  reveal  future 
events,  but  when  I  related  the  idle  words  of  the  Sibyl  to 
Graham,  I  knew  by  his  countenance  that  she  had  acciden- 
tally spoken  the  truth." 

"  We  can  only  hope  for  the  best,^'  replied  Lena.  "  That 
woman's  nonsense  should  not  give  us  a  moment's  trouble. 
I  would  not  if  I  could,  look  beyond  the  veil  which  hides 
futurity,  for  the  horrors  revealed  might  rob  me  of  all  hap- 
piness." 

These  two  cousins,  always  gentle,  kind  and  inseparable 
companions,  now  returned  to  the  Mansion  House,  where 
they  found  Mr.  Eston  perusing  a  letter  with  a  troubled 
countenance.  Lena  advanced  to  her  father,  who  gave  her 
the  note,  without  a  single  comment.  She  received  it  with 
a  trembling  hand  and  read ; 

"  Cincinnati^  Nov.  1,  1860. 

"  Mr.  Eston  : —  My  niece  has  for  some  months  past,  been 
engaged  to  be  married  to  a  Mr.  Edward  Ashton,  of  i^ash- 
ville.  A  report  recently  reached  me  that  he  was  paying 
his  respects  to  your  daughter.  The  importance  of  my 
knowing  its  truth  or  falsehood,  is  my  excuse  for  address- 
ing an  entire  stranger.  I  have  for  some  time  known  that 
he  was  without  fortune,  but  did  not  suspicion  that  he 
could  be  guilty  of  such  a  dishonorable  act  as  the  one  with 
which  he  is  charged.  Please  let  me  hear  from  you  at  your 
earliest  convenience. 

"  Yery  respectfully, 

John  Eeyno." 


92  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

Lena  was  much  agitated  when  she  began  to  read  this 
epistle,  but  as  she  iDroceeded,  her  cheeks  became  flushed 
with  indignation ;  and  when  she  had  completed  its  peru- 
sal, she  exclaimed  vehemently  — 

"  Papa,  these  charges  are  false.  I  know  Edward  never 
acted  so  dishonorably !  " 

Mr.  Eston  looked  at  his  daughter  with  some  surprise, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  he  suspicioned  that  she  loved  Ed- 
ward Ashton.  A  few  moments  of  painful  silence  succeed- 
ed, after  which  he  asked  — 

"What  is  Edward  Ashton  to  you,  my  daughter?" 

"He  saved  my  life  and  your  life,"  she  replied.  "I  have 
implicit  confidence  in  his  honor.  He  told  me  he  loved 
me,  and " 

"And  what,  my  daughter?"  he  inquired  in  a  mild  and 
gentle  tone,  which  bespoke  the  depth  of  his  feelings. 

Lena  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  flushed  face,  sat  down 
on  her  father's  knee,  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  I  love  him,  papa,"  she  continued,  in  a  low  tone,  scarcely 
above  a  whisper.  She  then  related  what  Edward  had  said 
when  they  parted,  and  revealed  his  promise  to  return 
again.  Mr.  Eston  listened  with  deep  interest  whilst  she 
was  unfolding  the  secrets  of  her  heart.  He  was  astonish- 
ed that  it  had  never  before  occurred  to  him  that  his  only 
child  loved  the  handsome  stranger  who  had  twice  saved 
her  life.     When  she  had  finished  her  story,  he  said : 

"  Time  will  prove  all  things." 

On  the  same  day  a  well-dressed  gentleman,  perhaps  for- 
ty years  of  age,  arrived  at  "  Chola,"  calling  himself  David 
Hinton,  who  inquired  for  Mrs.  Duree. 

He  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  where  the  desired  house- 
keeper soon  made  her  apj^earance.  The  stranger  bowed 
low  and  handed  her  a  letter,  which  she  broke  open  and 
then,  after  a  few  moments,  said : 

"  From  my  friend  Mr.  Pike ;  I  learn  he  proposes  visiting 
us." 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  93 

"  Yes,  in  less  than  a  week,"  replied  Mr.  Hinton.  "  My 
special  business  is  stated  in  the  letter." 

"  I  see,"  continued  Mrs.  Duree,  as  she  perused  the  remain- 
der of  the  letter;  and  when  she  had  finished  it,  she  added: 
"  I  can  arrange  this  matter." 

"  I  suppose  we  are  in  no  danger  of  being  overheard," 
observed  Mr.  Hinton,  as  he  suspiciously  cast  his  eyes 
around  the  room. 

"  We  can  converse  in  perfect  safety,"  she  replied  ;  and 
then  continued :  "  I  have  never  been  able  to  do  much  for 
my  friend.  That  gentleman  from  Nashville  got  acquainted 
with  Lena  when  absent  from  home,  and  1  saw  nothing 
could  be  done  after  they  came  to  this  place.  I  will  ar- 
range for  you  to  make  the  desired  statement  this  evening 
during  tea,  when  all  will  be  present. 

The  family  assembled  at  the  table  as  usual,  with  the 
addition  of  Mr.  Hinton.  Lena  appeared  and  sat  down 
with  her  cousin,  looking  somewhat  pale  and  troubled  from 
the  effects  of  the  letter  her  father  had  received. 

Mr.  Hinton  talked  and  laughed  almost  incessantly,  and 
labored  to  render  himself  very  agreeable.  Finally,  to- 
wards the  close  of  the  repast,  he  said  to  Mrs.  Duree,  who 
sat  at  the  head  of  the  table,  impatiently  awaiting  the  ex- 
pected announcement  which  was  to  startle  all  the  family : 

"  I  recently  met  with  one  of  your  acquaintances  residing 
in  Nashville." 

"  Who  ? "  inquired  Mrs.  Duree,  as  though  ignorant  of 
the  statement  he  was  about  to  make. 

"  Mr.  Edward  Ashton,  who  told  me  he  had  recently  vis- 
ited these  mountains." 

All  eyes  were  now  fixed  on  the  speaker,  who  continued 
in  a  careless  tone  : 

"  He  was  preparing  to  wed  the  belle  of  Nashville  and 
Cincinnati  —  the  beautiful  Pennie  Kaymond." 

The  color  instantly  forsook  Lena's  cheeks.  She  sat  a 
moment  overwhelmed  by  this  sudden  intelligence,  then 


94  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

said  somethiDg  about  being  indisposed,  and  left  the  table, 
followed  by  her  cousin.  When  they  were  alone,  she  burst 
into  a  fit  of  weeping ;  and  after  some  moments  had  elapsed, 
she  said  — 

"  Oh  !  Yenie,  what  am  I  to  think  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  a  mistake,"  said  her  companion. 

"  This  account  confirms  that  letter,  and  papa  will  believe 
it.  Oh!  if  I  only  knew  the  truth.  How  can  I  endure 
the  suspense  ?  " 

Yenie  endeavored  to  comfort  her  cousin,  but  she  was 
unable  to  recall  the  sunny  smile  to  her  beautiful  face.  She 
ceased  to  weep,  but  remained  dejected,  sad,  and  miserable. 

5fJ  *  *  ^  *  :}; 

About  a  week  afterwards,  Hiram  Pike  arrived  at  "  Cho- 
la"  when  all  the  family  were  absent  except  Mrs.  Duree, 
who  received  him  with  the  greatest  pleasure,  and  informed 
him  of  the  precise  condition  of  afi'airs.  He  had  put  up  at 
a  jDublic  house  in  Eavenwood,  a  small  village  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, where  he  designed  spending  the  nights  and  visit- 
ing "  Chola  "  as  long  as  it  might  be  advisable.  He  was 
now  in  good  spirits'  and  felt  quite  certain  that  he  would 
be  successful  in  winning  the  "Belle  of  the  Mountains," 
wbom,  he  had  recently  learned,  possessed  much  more 
wealth  than  he  had  anticipated.  As  to  the  slaves  she 
would  inherit,  he  could  either  convert  them  into  money 
or  change  his  sentiments  on  slavery,  without  doing  vio- 
lence to  his  conscience. 

When  Lena  and  her  cousin  arrived  at  home  on  this 
afternoon,  they  found  Hiram  Pike  anxiously  awaiting  their 
return.  They  showed  no  special  joy  at  his  unexpected 
appearance,  but  he  was  not  in  the  least  discouraged  by 
their  apparent  indifference.  He  imagined  that  in  the  end 
he  would  prove  irresistible,  and  when  he  finally  arose  to 
depart,  he  told  them  that  he  would  be  detained  at  Eaven- 
wood some  days,  and  would  be  pleased  to  see  them  again. 

Hiram  now  visited  "  Chola"  every  day.     He  endeavored 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  95 

to  make  a  good  impression  on  Mr.  Eston,  believing  that 
the  father's  influence,  added  to  the  shrewdness  of  Mrs. 
Duree,  would  remove  all  difficulties.  In  order  to  make 
everything  doubly  sure,  he  next  attempted  to  bring  Yenie 
to  his  assistance,  but  in  this  he  made  a  signal  failure.  She 
remained  cold  and  distant,  treating  him  with  great  for- 
mality. 

One  day  when  Lena  was  absent,  Yenie  said  to  Mr.  Pike : 

"Are  you  acquainted  with  Edward  Ashton,  of  Nash- 
ville?'' 

"  I  know  him  by  reputation,"  he  replied,  with  evident 
confusion. 

"  I  hear  he  is  about  to  be  married,"  she  continued,  and 
at  the  same  time  she  fixed  her  sparkling  eyes  on  his  face. 
Hiram  was  silent;  and  she  then  asked:  "what  is  the  name 
of  the  lady  ?  " 

*'  Pennie  Eaymond,"  he  answered,  in  a  hesitating  tone  : 
"  *  the  belle  of  two  cities.'  " 

"Is  this  report  true?"  she  asked,  watching  his  counte- 
nance, as  if  determined  to  read  the  secrets  of  his  heart. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it." 

Yenie  continued  the  same  inquisitorial  process,  notwith- 
standing Mr.  Pike's  efforts  to  change  the  subject.  She  saw 
he  was  uneasy,  and  very  guarded  in  his  statements.  His 
manner,  more  than  his  words,  confirmed  her  in  the  opinion 
that  something  was  wrong.  With  the  instincts  of  a 
shrewd  woman,  she  was  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  this 
man  had,  in  some  way,  been  the  author  of  these  calum- 
nies. 

Yenie  finally  spoke  of  the  letter  that  had  been  received. 
This  confused  Hiram  more  than  ever,  who  dreaded  some 
unexpected  exposure,  and  as  his  last  resort,  he  looked  at  his 
watch  and  remarked  that  he  wished  to  see  Mr.  Eston, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  in  the  library,  to  which  place  he  im- 
mediately repaired. 

Hiram  Pike  was  confident  of  success.     He  did  not  think 


96  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

it  possible  that  a  man  of  his  known  wealth  would  meet 
with  a  rebuff,  and  he  entered  the  library  with  the  deter- 
mination of  proposing  what  he  hoped  would  be  accepted 
as  a  splendid  matrimonial  alliance.  He  was  happy  to  find 
Mr.  Eston  alone,  and  after  a  few  preliminary  remarks,  he 
said  — 

"  When  I  first  met  your  daughter  I  admired  her." 

Mr.  Eston  was  surprised,  dropped  the  paper  he  had  been 
reading,  lifted  his  spectacles  nervously,  and  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  speaker,  as  if  wondering  to  what  all  this  would 
lead,  and  then  repeated  — 

"  You  admired  my  daughter." 

"  Yes  sir,"  said  the  embarrassed  Hiram  Pike.  "  I  was 
then  struck  with  her  beauty." 

"You  were  struck  with  her  beauty,"  repeated  Mr.  Eston. 

"I  was  attracted  and  learned  to  love  her." 

Mr.  Eston  sat  uneasily,  awaiting  a  more  definite  an- 
nouncement, but  the  confused  lover  remained  silent,  with 
down-cast  eyes.     Finally  he  added,  abruj)tly : 

"  I  would  marry  your  daughter." 

"  You  would." 

"  With  your  consent." 

"  My  daughter's  consent  is  important." 

"  I  have  not  spoken  to  her  yet  on  this  subject." 

"I  never  intend  to  select  a  husband  for  my  daughter," 
he  replied,  in  a  quiet  tone,  "  and  I  trust  she  has  sufficient 
judgment  to  make  a  wise  choice  for  herself." 

Mr.  Eston  again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  paper  he  had  been 
reading,  thereby  indicating  he  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
Under  these  circumstances  Hiram  should  have  backed 
himself  out  of  the  room  without  further  ceremony,  but  he 
suddenly  thought  of  his  wealth,  and  said  -r- 

"  I  have  a  large  fortune." 

'•  That  is  all  well  enough,"  replied  Mr.  Eston.  '^  I  should 
not  object  to  my  daughter  selecting  a  wealthy  individual, 
provided  he  possessed  talent,  integrity  and  moral  worth : 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  97 

all  of  which  are  much  more  important  than  property 
qualifications.  My  daughter  will  have  an  abundance  of 
this  world's  goods,  and  I  hope  she  will  choose  one  whether 
rich  or  poor,  who  is  calculated  to  render  her  happy." 

Hiram  Pike  returned  to  the  parlor,  Avhere  he  found  Le- 
na alone,  and  sat  down  near  her  with  the  intention  of 
making  a  brilliant  proposal.  He  considered  himself  an 
adept  in  courtship,  but  on  the  present  occasion  he  was 
embarrassed  by  fears  of  a  failure.  Finally  he  drew  a  long 
breath,  and  said  — 

"  Miss  Eston,  I  wish  to  speak  with  you  on  a  serious  sub- 
ject.'^ 

''A  religious  subject,"  she  said,  interrogatively. 
"  No,  on  one  not  quite  so  solemn,  but  perhaps  more  ex- 
citing and  equally  as  interesting." 

"  Secession,"  she  adroitly  replied,  "  is  the  most  exciting 
topic  of  conversation,  but  we  would  never  agree  on  that 
subject." 

Hiram  drew  another  long  breath,  during  which  he  ap- 
peared to  be  concentrating  his  confused  ideas,  and  then 
continued,  in  his  usual  pompous  manner  : 

"  We  have  been  acquainted  for  some  time,  and  I  have 
learned  to  love  you  with  my  whole  heart.     I  have  wealth 
and  move  in  the  best  circles  of  society.     My  warmest 
affections  are  yours,  and  I  now  offer  you  my  hand  and 
ask  you  to  share  my  wealth.     Do  you  love  me  ?  "  he  con- 
tinued, and  at  the  same  time  he  atj^empted  to  take  her 
hand,  but  she  instantly  removed  it  beyond  his  reach. 
"  I  do  not  love  3^ou,"  she  replied,  firmly. 
"  But  you  will,"  he  said  eagerly. 
''Never,"  she  replied,  without  hesitation. 
"Oh!  why  will  you  not  make  me  happy,  he  exclaimed, 
vehemently.     "I  know  the  cause,"  he  continued  bitterly. 
"  You  admire  another,  who  is  unworthy  of  your  affections, 
and  is  engaged  to " 

"Mr.  Pike,"  she  said,  interrupting  him,  "it  is  sufficient 
5 


98  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

for  you  to  know  that  I  do  not  and  never  will  love  you. 
You  have  no  right  to  presume  that  I  admire  any  person." 

"  I  know  you  do/'  he  continued,  passionately ;  "  it  is  that 
penniless  fortune  hunter  of  Kashville." 

"  I'll  hear  no  more  of  this,"  said  Lena,  rising,  with  a  glow 
of  indignation  on  her  cheeks,  and  then  added : — 

*'  My  hand  and  my  heart  are  my  own,  and  I  have  a  per- 
fect right  to  bestow  them  on  whom  I  please." 

Hiram  Pike  also  arose  and  stood  a  few  moments  in  silence. 
The  smiles  in  which  he  had  wreathed  his  face  a  few  minutes 
before  had  passed  away,  and  he  now  wore  a  dark  and  dia- 
bolical countenance,  that  made  Lena  tremble  with  fear. 
His  evil  nature  was  completely  aroused  by  the  demon  of 
revenge,  hatred  and  disappointed  love. 

"  Farewell !  "  he  hissed  through  his  teeth,  "  farewell ! 
but  not  forever.  We  will  shortly  meet  again.  This  is 
your  day  of  triumph,  but  mine  will  soon  come." 

He  now  strode  haughtily  out  of  the  house,  leaving  the 
frightened  Lena  alone  to  consider  the  mysterious  import 
of  his  words. 

Years  had  passed  away,  and  many  sad  changes  had  oc- 
curred, before  she  was  able  to  comprehend  the  full  force 
of  the  threat  he  then  uttered. 

Hiram  Pike  did  not  leave  Raven  wood  immediately.  On 
the  following  day  he  secretly  dispatched  a  note  to  Mrs. 
Duree,  designating  a  time  and  place  for  private  conference. 
They  met  at  the  specified  hour,  took  sweet  counsel  togeth- 
er, and  renewed  the  compact  for  their  mutual  benefit. 
Lena  was  to  be  won  by  strategy,  and  made  the  wife  of  the 
degraded  Hiram  Pike,  after  which  Mrs.  Duree  imagined 
that  she  could  easily  inveigle  Mr.  Eston  into  a  marriage 
with  herself,  and  thus  establish  her  reign  at  "  Chola"  on  a 
permanent  basis. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  99 


CHAPTEEXIII. 

Civil  Dissensions  in  East  Tennessee. 

Another  year  was  rapidly  passing  away  —  a  year  long 
to  be  remembered  in  the  annals  of  our  country  —  a  year 
marked  by  terrible  events  never  to  be  forgotten.  The 
whole  land  was  full  of  commotions.  State  after  State  had 
withdrawn  from  the  violated  compact.  The  strong  arm 
of  the  Government  was  paralyzed,  and  the  Union  no  long- 
er existed  but  in  name.  The  political  fountains  were 
broken  up,  and  the  fragments  of  a  once  glorious  Eepub- 
lic,  tossed  by  the  contending  elements,  seemed  mingling 
in  one  universal  chaos.  Thus  it  has  ever  been  in  the  his- 
tory of  nations,  kingdoms,  and  empires.  They  arose  in 
s2:)lendor,  and,  for  a  short  period,  were  blessed  with  inter- 
nal peace  and  prosperity.  Their  years  rolled  on  "with  song 
and  joy  ;  "  but  suddenly  the  heavens  were  clouded  with  a 
fearful  destiny,  and  their  mirth  was  followed  by  bitter 
wails  and  lamentations.  Each  calm  in  their  history  was 
succeeded  by  a  yet  more  terrible  convulsion  —  until  their 
institutions  were  wrecked  —  until  their  Government  was 
blotted  out  of  existence,  and  they  became  like  "  a  vast 
pyramid,  raising  it's  bleak  head  amid  the  ruins  of  time," 
known  only  its  desolations. 

"So  fell  the  old  republics — Gentile  and  Jew  — 
Roman  and  Greek," 

and  such  will  ever  be  the  record,  as  long  as  the  principle 
of  coercion  shall  be  admitted. 


100  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 

Mankind  are  slow  to  learn  the  true  foundation  of  a 
strong  Government.  They  are  ever  prone  to  forget  that 
the  people  must  be  united  by  a  common  interest  —  that 
they  must  share  a  common  glory  —  that  they  must  be 
ruled  by  common  consent,  and  that  every  one  must  have 
an  equal  voice  in  all  public  matters.  They  are  liable  to 
lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  people  made  the  Govern- 
ment for  their  own  benefit,  and,  on  the  contrary,  to  imag- 
ine that  the  citizens  were  created  expressly  for  the  good 
of  the  authorities.  A  resort  to  force  where  free  institu- 
tions exist,  is  the  height  of  folly,  madness,  and  wickedness 
—  an  ignoble  idea,  derived  from  the  worst  despotisms  that 
ever  disgraced  this  earth,  and  must  ever  result  in  the  over- 
throw of  the  usurpers,  or  a  total  destruction  of  the  liber- 
ties of  the  people. 

The  time  will  assuredly  come  when  the  destructive 
principle  of  coercion,  borrowed  from  the  gloom  of  past 
centuries,  at  a  period  when  the  Goddess  of  Liberty  seemed 
to  have  forever  winged  her  flight  from  this  devastated 
and  blood-stained  world,  will  be  considered  as  a  relic  of 
barbarism.  Then  the  people  will  establish  popular  gov- 
ernments and  dissolve  them  at  pleasure.  Then  communi- 
ties will  unite  under  a  written  constitution,  and  again 
separate  in  peace ;  then  rulers  will  learn  to  consult  the 
interests  of  the  citizens,  and  be  unable  to  usurp  powers 
never  delegated  ;  then  bloody  civil  wars  will  be  unknown, 
and  no  longer  disgrace  the  annals  of  this  world,  where 
cruelty,  injustice,  and  oppression,  has  ever  marred  the 
peace  and  happiness  of  the  human  race. 

In  the  month  of  February,  1861,  the  State  of  Tennessee, 
by  a  vote  of  her  sovereign  people,  refused  to  call  a  Con- 
vention to  even  consider  the  propriety  of  withdrawing 
from  the  Union,  yet,  at  the  same  time,  they  boldly  an- 
nounced that  troops  should  never  cross  her  soil  with  her 
consent,  to  coerce  any  seceding  State.  True  to  her  senti- 
ments, when  blood  began  to  flow,  when  seventy-five  thous- 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  101 

and  men  were  called  into  the  field,  to  convert  a  Govern- 
ment of  consent  into  one  of  coercion,  she  began  to  mar- 
shal her  hosts  for  the  impending  conflict.  The  middle  and 
western  portions  oY  the  State  were  united,  but,  in  East 
Tennessee,  the  people  were  rent  to  pieces  by  civil  dissen- 
sions. They  were  separated  into  two  hostile  factions  con- 
tending for  the  mastery,  which  soon  resulted  in  anarchy, 
bloodshed,  and  confusion. 

It  was  on  a  lonely  evening  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
month  of  May,  1861,  we  would  introduce  the  reader  into 
Knoxville,  the  commercial  emporium  of  East  Tennessee, 
then  the  centre  of  all  political  and  military  movements  in 
than  region.  It  was  already  beginning  to  grow  late  in 
the  evening,  but  the  Lamar  House  was  yet  crowded  by 
Confederate  oflScers  and  leading  politicians,  who  were 
openly  conversing  on  their  respective  operations,  and  dis- 
cussing the  probable  success  of  the  impending  struggle. 
In  the  midst  of  these  sat  Hiram  Pike,  apparently  perusing 
the  last  issue  of  the  Knoxville  Register^  but  in  reality 
noting  every  word  that  fell  from  the  lips  of  the  surround- 
ing oflScials. 

A  Confederate  soldier,  wearing  the  uniform  of  a  private, 
suddenly  entered  and  handed  a  sealed  package  to  an  officer, 
then  stood  gazing  around  the  apartment,  until  his  eyes 
rested  on  Hiram  Pike.  He  started  with  sudden  surprise 
when  he  perceived  that  individual,  and  muttered  to  him- 
self: 

''  Hiram  Pike,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Pat  Megram." 

He  next  walked  to  the  front  of  Mr.  Pike,  evidently 
wishing  to  see  if  that  person  would  recognize  him  in  a 
Confederate  uniform — but  he  appeared  suddenly  to  change 
his  notion,  and  walked  to  the  desk,  seized  a  pen,  and  began 
writing.  The  note  was  torn  up  as  soon  as  written,  and 
another  prepared.  This  he  examined  carefully,  after  which 
he  returned  to  the  rear  of  Hiram,  Avho  yet  sat  perusing 
the  journal,  apparently  deeply  absorbed  in  its  contents. 


102  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

Pat  Megram  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  dropped  the 
note  over  his  shoulder,  and  suddenly  disappeared. 

Hiram  Pike  gathered  up  this  short  epistle,  written  in  a 
scrawling  hand-writing,  and  read  :  —  • 

"  Mr.  Pike  :  — May  the  ghost  of  Croft,  and  his  murdered 
daughter,  haunt  you  night  and  day.  May  Nell  Tucker 
pursue  you  like  an  incarnate  fiend.  Make  a  blue  streak 
Northward,  or  I  Avill  see  you  roasted  on  a  grid- iron." 

He  instantly  sprang  to  his  feet,  pale  and  trembling,  and 
gazed  wildly  around  the  room,  but  he  could  see  no  familiar 
face.  He  walked  out  into  the  hall,  anxious,  perplexed, 
and  ready  to  fly  for  his  life,  when  he  met  with  the  Rev. 
Obadiah  Stanton.  After  a  few  whispered  words,  they  as- 
cended to  the  next  floor,  and  entered  a  private  apartment. 

"  What  is  the  news?"  inquired  the  Parson. 

"  Some  good,  and  some  bad,"  answered  Hiram. 

*'  I  suppose  all  our  secret  organizations  work  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  beyond  our  expectations.  Most  of 
our  substantial  Union  men  have  joined  the  leagues.  As  I 
have  expended  all  the  money  furnished  by  my  Northern 
friends  —  and  as  my  life  is  threatened,  I  think  of  returning 
home.  I  see  nothing  more  that  I  can  do  for  our  cause,  at 
present." 

"  I  also  think  of  going  North,"  said  the  Parson. 

"  Perhaps  you  had  better  do  so,  as  you  have  taken  a 
very  active  part  in  our  movements,  and  have  openly 
preached  and  prayed  our  doctrines."  Then  after  a  mo- 
ment he  added,  in  a  quiet  tone  : 

"  Some  of  our  own  party  are  not  to  be  trusted." 

"Our  leaders  are  true,"  said  Mr.  Stanton. 

"  You  are  much  mistaken,  for,  on  last  week,  we  came 
within  an  ace  of  losing  our  '  King  Bee.'" 

"Who?" 

"  A  certain  hot-headed,  ranting  political  Parson,  who 
consigns  all  his  foes  to  eternal  damnation,  fire  and  brim- 
stone —  alias  the  Savage  Parson. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  103 

"  Impossible !  " 

"  Even  so ;  but  I  have  circumvented  our  enemies,  and 
he  is  now  all  right  again." 

"  "When  do  you  think  of  leaving  Knoxville  ?  "  inquired 
the  Parson. 

"This  very  night,  as  soon  as  the  Council  is  over.'^ 

"  When  you  get  through  the  lines,"  said  the  Parson, 
"  you  must  make  a  report  to  the  loyal  people  well  calcu- 
ted  to  fire  the  ISTorthern  heart.  This  must  be  made  a  fierce, 
bloody,  and  a  vindictive  war,  waged  with  such  fury  as  to 
impoverish  the  Southern  people,  and  extirpate  slavery." 

"  I  will  attend  to  that  as  soon  as  I  reach  home,"  said 
Hiram.  "  I  will  go  into  the  army  immediately,  so  I  can 
have  my  share  of  the  fun  —  booty  and  beauty." 

Mr.  Pike  now  consulted  a  fine  gold  watch,  and  announ- 
ced that  it  was  the  hour  the  league  had  ap])ointed  to  meet. 
They  both  arose  and  left  the  hotel,  for  the  purpose  of  ap- 
pearing with  the  secret  conclave,  and  at  the  same  time 
there  mig-ht  have  been  seen  a  number  of  men,  travelling  in 
the  same  direction,  and  bound  for  the  same  destination. 

Hiram  Pike  and  his  friend  passed  down  Gay  Street, 
through  a  large  number  of  Confederate  soldiers,  then 
turned  into  a  less  frequented  thoroughfare,  and  finally 
came  to  a  narrow,  crooked  lane,  which  was  entirely  de- 
serted at  this  late  hour  of  the  night. 

They  next  entered  an  enclosure  from  the  rear,  and  ap- 
proached a  sentinel  who  barred  the  way. 

"  Help  Cometh,"  said  Hiram,  with  a  peculiar  signal, 
which  was  instantly  recognized,  and  they  were  permitted 
to  pass. 

They  now  pursued  a  narrow  hall  some  distance,  and  then 
ascended  a  long  flight  of  steps,  and  were  finally  halted  by 
another  sentinel.  Hiram  Pike  advanced  and  whispered 
in  his  ear,  "  Death  to  traitors." 

They  were  immediately  ushered  into  a  large  hall,  already 
well-filled,  amongst  whom  they  recognized  some  of  the  lead- 
in^^  citizens  in  that  vicinity. 


104  THE    SUNNY  LAND  ; 

The  Grand  High  Priest  of  the  brotherhood,  wearing  the 
insignia  of  his  oflSce.  now  arose,  and  proceeded  to  open 
with  the  usual  formalities.  After  the  transaction  of  some 
unimportant  business,  reports  were  received  from  various 
organizations  in  the  surrounding  counties. 

Hiram  Pike  arose  for  the  purpose  of  making  a  farewell 
address.  He  rapidly  sketched  the  labors  he  had  perform- 
ed in  their  midst,  and  the  success  that  had  attended  his  ef- 
orts.  He  exhorted  them  to  maintain  the  cause  of  the  Union, 
to  keep  up  their  organizations,  and  promised  that  within 
a  few  months  the  Union  arm}^  would  enter  East  Tennessee, 
when  they  would  all  be  rewarded  for  their  faithfulness  ; 
but  knowing  that  he  addressed  some  who  owned  slaves, 
and  others  who  were  friends  to  the  institution,  he  careful- 
ly avoided  that  subject.  He  next  explained  a  plan  by 
which  constant  communication  could  be  kept  up  with  the 
^Northern  States,  by  means  of  secret  couriers,  and  recom- 
mended its  immediate  adoption.  He  proposed  that,  when 
the  proper  time  should  come,  they  should  burn  all  the  rail- 
road bridges  in  East  Tennessee,  rush  to  arms,  and  hold  the 
country  until  reinforcements  could  cross  the  mountains  — 
a  project  which  was  actually  attempted  a  few  months 
later,  when  it  proved  a  complete  failure. 

The  Savage  Parson  followed,  in  a  short  oration,  pouring 
forth  a  perfect  storm  of  Billingsgate.  He  bitterly'  de- 
nounced the  rebels,  consigning  them  —  with  all  the  vulgar 
profanity  peculiar  to  his  dark  and  malignant  nature  —  to 
the  lowest  depths,  and  the  hottest  focus,  of  Pluto's  sombre 
domains.  Finally,  having  exhausted  all  the  epithets  known 
to  the  English  language,  he  took  his  seat  before  an  admir- 
ing audience. 

The  Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton  arose  and  said :  "  This 
wicked  rebellion  will  soon  be  crushed.  This  land  of  dark- 
ness—  this  habitation  of  cruelty  —  must  be  cleansed. 
The  proud  despisers  of  God's  Law  will  yet  be  made  to 
smoke  in  the  furnace  of  affliction,  and,  if  they  do  not  repent. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  105 

they  will  be  brought  down  to  the  lowest  pits  of  hell.  Let 
them  continue  to  resist  "the  powers  that  be," — ordained 
of  God ;  let  them  indulge  their  anger,  wrath,  and  malice, 
and  the  day  will  soon  come,  and  is  now  at  hand,  when  they 
will  howl  in  their  misery.  They  will  be  cursed  in  the 
city,  cursed  in  the  field,  cursed  in  their  basket  and  store, 
cursed  in  the  fruit  of  their  loins,  cursed  in  their  flocks, 
and  cursed  when  they  go  out  or  come  in.  They  will  per- 
ish quickly,  because  they  hold  the  slave  in  bondage,  and 
have  rebelled  against  the  best  government  in  the  world  : 
except  that  it  has  permitted  this  one  infernal  institution, 
slavery,  which  is  suflicient  to  blacken  the  name  of  any 
nation. 

This  reference  to  slavery  created  a  sensation,  and  brought 
a  half  dozen  of  persons  to  their  feet,  who  could  not  agree 
with  him  on  the  hated  institution.  Hiram  sat  still,  but 
was  sorry  this  firebrand  had  been  introduced.  The  Sav- 
age Parson,  who  had  long  defended  slavery  and  abused 
all  abolitionists,  looked  daggers  at  the  speaker  who  had 
meekly  taken  his  seat;  and  a  sandy-haired  man,  of  fifty, 
broke  forth  in  defense  of  the  United  States,  declaring  it 
had  no  power  and  never  would  interfere  with  their  prop- 
erty. Finally  he  exclaimed,  "is  the  Government  a  dog 
that  it  should  do  such  a  thing?"  and  then  sank  back  into 
his  seat,  completely  exhausted. 

Some  leading  spirits  followed,  making  an  attempt  to 
smooth  over  the  matter  and  prove,  at  least  to  their  own 
satisfaction,  that  no  such  a  thing  was  intended  or  ever 
would  be  done.  The  Eev.  Obadiah  remained  silent,  grin- 
ning at  the  speakers,  as  much  as  to  say,  ''  wait,  and  see 
what  will  become  of  your  negroes,"  but  he  did  not  deem 
it  expedient  to  again  express  his  thoughts. 

What  a  shocking  spectacle  our  country  presented  dur- 
ing this  fearful  contest  —  the  legitimate  offspring  of  fanat- 
icism, and  the  natural  result  of  the  despotic  doctrines  of 

coercion.     We  can  scarcely  realize  the  fact  that  brethren 
5>K 


106  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

of  one  common  heritage — that  citizens  of  sister  common- 
wealths, once  united  by  common  consent  —  professing  to 
be  attached  to  free  institutions  —  continually  declaring 
their  hatred  for  all  governments  held  together  by  force, 
should  madly  wage  a  long,  bloody,  and  desolating  war,  for 
the  sake  of  establishing  a  principle  they  had  ever  derided. 
Oh  !  the  folly,  wickedness,  and  inhumanity  of  men.  "When 
their  evil  passions  are  aroused,  they  will  blindly  sacrifice 
their  best  interests  in  order  to  gratify  their  malignant 
hearts. 

"  They  have  no  judgment  left,  and  madly  teach 
Those  bloody  creeds  of  force,  which  will  return 
To  plague  the  blind  inventors." 


A    STORY    OF   TUB   CRUEL   WAR.  107 


CHAPTEE  XIY. 

The  Great  Civil  War  Inaugurated. 

The  fearful  tocsin  of  war  was  sounded,  and  a  multitude 
rushed  to  arms.  The  farmer  left  his  plow  in  the  midst  of 
the  furrow ;  the  mechanic  dropped  his  implements  of  in- 
dustry; the  merchant  forsook  the  counter;  the  student 
cast  aside  his  books ;  the  lawyer  deserted  the  bar,  and  all 
minds  were  concentrated  on  the  art  of  human  butchery. 
The  wild,  fierce  and  warlike  cry  of  "to  arms,"  arose 
throughout  the  land.  "  To  arms  "  was  borne  on  every  breeze- 
"  To  arms  "  reverberated  over  every  valley,  and  was  re-ech- 
oed from  every  mountain  gorge.  Thus  was  inaugurated  a 
long,  bloody  and  relentless  war  —  a  war  which  made  un- 
numbered widows  and  orphans  —  a  war  which  filled  the 
land  with  w^ails  and  lamentations  —  a  war  which  rendered 
unnumbered  homes  desolate,  and  left  them  lifeless,  leafless, 
hopeless. 

"  The  spirit-broken,  bleeding  lone." 

Graham  Hardee  was  amongst  the  foremost  volunteers 
who  entered  the  infantry  service,  and  was  shortly  after- 
wards commissioned  with  the  rank  of  major.  Edward 
Ashton  raised  a  cavalry  company  soon  after  his  friend  had 
left  home,  and  was  ordered  to  Kentucky,  where  he  was 
first  initiated  into  the  hardships  incident  to  a  soldier'^  life. 
He  was  immediately  sent  forward  in  command  of  a  small 
force  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  enemy,  and  was  engaged 
in  various  skirmishes,  pursuits  and  retreats,  some  of  which 


108  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

required  much  skill,  in  order  to  escape  destruction.  He 
soon  f^ained  the  reputation  of  a  brave,  dashing  and  able 
officer,  and  was  frequently  entrusted  with  the  management 
of  hazardous  enterprises.  With  a  mere  handful  of  men, 
he  performed  many  brilliant  feats,  and  made  numberless 
hair-breadth  escapes,  which  will  long  be  remembered  and 
related  by  the  war-worn  soldier,  on  the  long  wintry  nights, 
as  he  gathers  a  happy  family  circle  around  the  blazing 
hearth. 

The  summer,  fall  and  winter  of  18G1  slowly  passed  away, 
and  towards  the  close  of  the  year  some  unexpected  reverses 
befel  the  Confederates.  The  enemy  had  advanced  in 
overwhelming  numbers.  Fort  Donaldson  had  been  cap- 
tured, and  another  reverse  had  been  sustained  at  Fishing 
Creek,  which  made  it  necessary  that  they  should  evacuate 
a  considerable  portion  of  Tennessee. 

The  main  Confederate  army  slowly  retreated,  covered 
by  an  insufficient  cavalry  force,  pursued  by  a  victorious 
enemy,  flushed  by  recent  victories.  It  was  in  the  midst 
of  dreary  winter.  The  rain  poured  down  almost  inces- 
Bantly.  The  soldiers  suffered  terribly,  yet  they  bore  it 
without  a  murmur. 

One  day  Captain  Ashton  was  ordered  to  lead  his  men 
to  a  certain  point,  and  to  hold  that  position  against  the 
Federals  as  long  as  possible.  Those  under  his  command 
had  been  constantly  in  the  saddle  for  several  days, 
during  which  it  had  rained  almost  without  intermission. 
They  had  been  engaged  in  numerous  skirmishes,  and  a 
majority  had  lost  their  overcoats  and  blankets,  so  that 
they  were  exposed  to  all  the  rigors  of  this  inclement  sea- 
son. They  were,  without  exception,  wet,  cold,  hungry 
and  worn  out  by  constant  movements,  but  they  obeyed 
this  order  without  complaint,  and  formed  a  line  at  the  des- 
ignated place. 

A  superior  force  of  the  Yankees  soon  appeared,  and 
made  a  desperate  attempt  to  drive  the  Confederates  from 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  109 

their  position,  in  order  to  reach  a  train  of  wagons  in  their 
rear,  but  they  were  foiled,  and  were  compelled  to  retire. 

Captain  Ashton  soon  afterwards  learned  that  the  enemy 
had  been  reinforced.  He  feared  a  flank  movement,  and 
would  have  retreated,  but  his  orders  were  imperative  that 
he  should  hold  that  position  as  long  as  possible. 

The  Federals  began  a  new  attack  with  artillery,  and 
soon  afterwards  advanced  in  heavy  force.  The  Confeder- 
ates, for  more  than  an  hour,  manfully  held  their  j^osition, 
in  order  to  give  the  valuable  wagon  trains  sufficient  time  to 
escape,  and  then  began  to  slowly  retreat,  fighting  the  ene- 
my as  they  fell  back,  and  making  a  stand  at  every  availa- 
ble point. 

Captain  Ashton  now  discovered  that  a  large  force,  by  a 
circuitous  route,  had  gained  a  position  which  effectually 
cut  off  all  further  retreat.  An  impassable  stream  lay  on 
his  left,  and  a  rugged  hill  on  his  right,  whilst  before  and 
behind  were  the  advancing  enemy,  in  overwhelming  num- 
bers. •  Death  or  captivity  appeared  to  be  inevitable. 

He  was  not  a  man  to  shrink  from  danger  and  give  the  foe 
an  easy  victory.  He  instantly  ordered  a  charge,  and  with 
the  foremost  of  his  men,  dashed  into  the  midst  of  the  Fed- 
erals. It  was  a  desperate  hand  to  hand  fight.  The  bravest 
of  the  brave  mingled  in  the  fearful  strife,  cutting,  slashing 
and  hewing  each  other  with  their  sabres. 

"One  effort  —  one  —  to  break  the  circling  host, 
To  form  —  unite — charge  —  waver  —  all  is  lost 
Within  a  narrow  ring  compressed,  beset ; 
Ah  !  now  thej  fight  in  firmest  tile  no  more. 
Hemmed  —  cut  off — cleft  down,  and  trampled  o'er, 
But  each  strikes  singly,  silently  and  home, 
And  sinks  outnumbered  rather  than  o'ercome. 
His  last  faint  quittance  rendering  with  his  breath  — 
'Till  the  blade  glimmers  in  the  grasp  of  death." 

Edward  had  well-nigh  opened  for  himself  a  passage 
through  the  broken  ranks,  when  he  was  confronted  by  a 
Federal  Captain,  whom  he  recognized  and  despised.  It 
was  Hiram  Pike,  his  old  rival,  who  spurred  his  horse  for- 


110  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

ward  and  aimed  a  blow  at  his  head,  which  would  have  in- 
stantly put  an  end  to  his  career,  had  it  not  been  success- 
fully parried. 

Edward  knew  that  he  could  expect  no  mercy  from  his 
assailant,  and  resolved  to  sell  his  life  as  dear  as  possible. 
He  skillfully  parried  each  thrust  of  his  antagonist,  and 
finally  gave  him  a  stroke  which  made  an  ugly  gash  in  his 
face,  and  sent  him  reeling  from  his  saddle.  At  the  same  in- 
stant a  long-armed  Western  Hoosier  struck  Edward  a 
stunning  blow,  and  the  next  moment  his  horse  was  shot 
and  fell  to  the  earth. 

When  Edward  became  conscious,  he  found  he  had  re- 
ceived a  number  of  severe  wounds.  He  soon  learned  that 
the  Federals  had  only  taken  a  few  of  his  men  prisoners, 
and  he  also  ascertained  that  the  obstinate  resistance  he 
had  made,  had  enabled  the  Confederate  trains  to  escape 
the  clutches  of  the  enemy. 

His  accommodating  captors  now  relieved  him  of  his 
watch,  portmonnaie,  and  sundry  other  articles,  after  which 
he  was  placed  in  an  ambulance  and  sent  to  a  point  some 
miles  in  rear  of  the  battle-field. 

Edward  now  languished  some  weeks  under  the  care  of 
a  careless  surgeon.  He  was  often  in  want  of  the  most 
common  necessaries  of  life,  which  could  easily  have  been 
obtained,  and  he  frequently  lacked  for  attention.  So  great 
was  his  sufi'ering,  that  he  sometimes  imagined  that  his 
captors  had  determined  to  procure  his  death  by  ill  treat- 
ment. 

The  prisoner  finally  began  to  grow  better,  and  to 
feel  that  he  would,  in  time,  regain  his  usual  health. 
Another  trial  must  now  be  endured.  The  Federal  author- 
ities had  determined  to  send  him  to  some  Korthern  pe?i, 
where  he  would  be  under  the  charge  of  cowardly  home  mi- 
litia, who  better  understood  the  process  of  tormenting  cap- 
tured Eebels. 

On  the  day  when  Edward  was  to  set  out  for  the  North, 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  Ill 

in  company  with  some  other  "prisoners,  Captain  Pike 
came  into  the  hospital.  He  was  unusually  pale,  and 
yet  wore  a  bandage  over  his  scarred  face.  He  fixed  his 
eyes  on  the  prisoner  with  all  the  diabolical  hate  and  deep 
malignity,  peculiar  to  his  sordid  and  contemptible  nature, 
then  uttered  a  fierce  and  vindictive  threat,  muttered  a 
half  suppressed  oath,  and  turned  to  the  ofiicer  of  the 
guard,  who  was  awaiting  orders  to  set  out  with  the  pris- 
oners. Edward  could  not  have  heard  sufiicient  to  know 
that  his  own  safety  was  under  discussion.  As  Captain 
Pike  turned  to  depart,  he  heard  him  say  distinctly,  with 
a  fierce  oath : 

"  Drop  him,  I  say,  drop  him  by  the  way." 

"  I  will  see  about  it,"  returned  the  officer. 

Edward  did  believe  he  was  in  much  danger,  judging 
from  this  reply.  It  was  not  so  common,  at  this  early  pe- 
riod, to  "  lose  prisoners  by  the  way,"  to  use  the  army 
expression,  as  it  afterwards  became,  when  all  minds  were 
more  inflamed,  and  the  war  had  assumed  a  more  ferocious 
character.  He  did  not  then  believe  it  possible  that  such  a 
deliberate,  cold-blooded  murder  could  be  perpetrated,  but  in 
after  years  he  learned  that  men  could  be  guilty  of  such 
infamous  atrocities. 

Edward,  in  company  with  a  number  of  prisoners,  was 
first  sent  back  to  the  Queen  City  of  the  West.  They 
were  at  this  point  landed  and  marched  through  its  streets, 
well  guarded,  and  surrounded  by  a  vast  concourse  of  men, 
women  and  children  —  all  anxious  to  see  some  specimens 
of  live  rebels,  who  had  been  engaged  in  the.horrible  attempt 
to  break  up  "the  best  government  the  world  ever  saw." 
They  gazed  with  wonder  at  these  prisoners,  whom  they 
considered  criminals  of  the  deepest  die,  having  had  the 
audacity  to  withdraw  from  the  shadow  of  the  powers  or- 
dained by  high  heaven,  and  then,  like  unruly  children,  had 
refused  to  take  a  flogging  for  such  wilful  disobedience. 
They  looked  upon  them  as  so  many  outlaws,  who  had  for- 


112  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

felted  all  right  to  life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happi- 
ness—  who  richly  deserved  to  be  suspended  by  their  necks. 
Many  bitter  words  fell  on  Edward's  ears  as  he  passed 
through  the  angry  multitude,  surging  like  a  restless  ocean 
tossed  into  a  ferment  by  contending  winds,  but  he  finally 
reached  the  cars  in  safety.  Before  the  train  moved  on,  he 
cast  his  eyes  back  over  the  Queen  City  with  the  inward 
reflection  of  the  madness,  folly,  and  ignorance  of  its  in- 
habitants. What  a  scene  it  j^resents,  thought  Edward  — 
what  a  scramble,  what  a  mortal  struggle  here  exists — 
what  delusive  schemes  —  what  ambitious  motives  —  what 
hatred,  malice,  and  ill-will,  what  blindness  to  their  best 
interests,  stir  this  vast  concourse  of  j)eople  !  They  are 
aiding  in  overthrowing  a  noble  constitution,  and  are  labor- 
ing to  establish  a  military  despotism,  which  must  result  in 
a  "  reign  of  terror  "  —  in  bloodshed,  anarchy  and  confusion 
throughout  the  whole  land. 

The  train  moved  on  rapidly  to  some  unknown  destina- 
tion.    The  sun  sank  to  rest  and 

"  Twilight  grey 
Had  in  her  sombre  liverj  all  things  clad," 

when  they  reached  a  considerable  village  built  around  a 
Eailroad  Station. 

Edward  and  the  prisoners  who  were  with  him  were  or- 
dered to  occupy  an  adjoining  car,  and  in  the  confusion  in- 
cident to  this  change,  he  stepped  off  the  platform  without 
being  discovered,  then  quickly  passed  around  a  train 
which  stood  on  an  adjoining  track,  from  which  point  he 
moved  on,  under  the  shield  of  darkness,  until  he  came  to 
a  couple  of  soldiers.  The  lights  were  so  dim  they  did  not 
observe  him,  and  he  passed  unseen  between  two  freight 
cars,  and  soon  found  himself  alone  in  an  open  space.  He 
next  entered  a  dark  alley,  and  finally  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing the  open  country. 

He  now  sat  down  and  reflected  what  he  should  do.     He 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  113 

was  yet  feeble  in  health,  and  unable  to  walk  a  great  dis- 
tance. He  wore  a  Rebel  uniform,  which  would  certainly 
betray  him,  unless  he  could  exchange  it  for  a  citizen's 
dress.  He  was  penniless,  and  unable  to  procure  a  morsel 
of  food.  He  was  a  stranger  in  a  strange  land  —  in  the 
midst  of  an  implacable  foe,  far  from  home  and  friends. 
He  saw  but  little  chance  of  escaping  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  military  authorities.  He  was  exceedingly  sad,  forlorn, 
and  desolate,  and  ready  to  despair. 

He  finally  rose  up,  determined  to  make  a  struggle  for 
his  liberty,  when  he  discovered  a  light  proceeding  from  a 
cottage  on  a  neighboring  eminence.  He  advanced  cau- 
tiously towards  this  dwelling  for  the  purpose  of  reconnoi- 
tering.  Finding  a  window  oj^en  he  advanced  to  it,  when 
he  heard  a  gentleman  say  distinctly — 

"  Captain  Pike  has  returned  to  Cincinnati  with  a  con- 
siderable wound  on  his  face." 

"  So  I  heard  this  morning,"  replied  a  feminine  voice, 
which  once  was  like  the  sweetest  music  to  Edward's  ear. 

"  Your  brothers  are  both  in  the  army  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  same  lady  ,  "  they  are  now  at  Nash- 
ville, and  father  is  also  at  that  place.  He  has  been  quite 
low  spirited  ever  since  he  unfortunately  lost  his  property, 
but  he  now  hopes  to  get  an  army  contract  that  will  ena- 
ble him  to  resume  business.  There  is  no  one  at  home  at 
present  but  my  mother  and  myself  We  are,  indeed,  quite 
lonesome  at  this  quiet  country  seat." 

The  stranger  now  arose  and  bid  adieu  to  Pennie  Ray- 
mond, passing  out  within  three  feet  of  the  Confederate 
officer,  who  stood  in  the  shade  of  some  ornamental  shrubs. 
As  soon  as  the  echo  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away  in  the 
distance,  Edward  resolved  to  enter  the  parlor  unannounc- 
ed, trusting  that  Pennie  would  be  disposed  to  shield  him 
from  his  enemies. 

vShe  sat  alone  in  the  parlor  in  a  reflective  mood,  when  a 
light  footstep  arrested  her  attention.     She  turned  her  head 


114  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

and  instantly  sprang  to  her  feet,  with  an  expression  of 
mingled  surprise  and  fear.  She  did  not  speak,  faint,  nor 
scream,  but  stood  gazing  at  this  grey  apparition  with  utter 
astonishment.  Edward's  appearance  was  so  much  changed 
by  the  uniform  he  wore  and  by  his  recent  sufferings,  that 
she  did  not  recognize  him  until  he  said,  in  a  tone  never  to 
be  forgotten  : 

"  Pennie  Eaymond  !  '* 

Her  whole  aspect  instantly  changed.  A  smile  broke 
over  her  beautiful  face,  and  she  extended  her  hand,  as  she 
had  been  accustomed  to  do  in  past  years.  She  had  never 
ceased  to  love  that  young  man,  and  was  glad  to  see  him 
again,  even  clad  as  he  was  in  the  despised  Confederate 
grey.  They  now  sat  down  together  and  he  told  her  frank- 
ly his  condition,  and  asked  if  she  could  not  direct  him  to 
some  Southern  sympathiser  who  would  assist  him  to  reach 
home.     Pennie  reflected  a  few  moments,  and  then  replied: 

"  I  know  of  none  to  whom  you  could  safely  apply.  I 
can  find  some  garments  here  that  will  fit  you,  so  you  can 
dispose  of  your  uniform  immediately.  I  expect  one  of  my 
brothers  to  be  home  in  a  week  or  two,  and  when  he  ar- 
rives I  will  get  him  to  advance  you  some  money  and  assist 
you  to  return  to  the  South.  In  the  meantime  you  can  re- 
main with  us  and  recruit  your  health,  which  seems  to  be 
much  impaired. 

Edward  passed  a  few  quiet  days  at  this  retired  country 
seat.  Mrs.  Eaymond  and  her  daughter  were  the  only 
members  of  the  family  at  home,  and  since  the  loss  of  their 
property,  they  had  but  few  visitors.  He  was  left  almost 
entirely  to  the  care  of  Pennie,  who  seemed  happy  at  being 
able  to  entertain  her  guest,  and  never  better  satisfied  than 
when  in  his  company.  She  appeared  determined,  by 
marked  kindness  and  assiduous  attention,  to  make  him 
forget  that  she  had  ever  proved  false  to  the  sacred  vows 
of  unchangeable  love — that  she  had  ever  trampled  on  his 
warm  affections,  and  bid  him  leave  her  forever.     She  en- 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  115 

deavored  to  persuade  him  never  to  return  to  the  South, 
and  to  give  up  all  thought  of  again  mingling  in  an  unhap- 
py conflict,  destined  to  rage  with  increasing  fury. 

As  day  after  day  passed  away,  she  became  more  and 
more  devoted  to  the  Eebel  Captain,  whom  she  was  endeav- 
oring to  hold  in  a  soft  imprisonment  by  the  sweet  bland- 
ishment of  love.  It  soon  became  evident  that  she  was 
laboring  to  win  back  his  first  affections,  and  hold  him  a 
willing  captive  at  her  feet.  He  could  not  but  admire  her 
queenly  beauty  and  listen  with  pleasure  to.  the  sweet  music 
of  her  voice.  He  felt  he  was  gradually  yielding  to  her 
enticing  smiles,  which,  like  the  reptile-charmed  bird,  he 
was  unable  to  resist.  Her  kind  words,  full  of  love  and 
sympathy,  fell  on  his  sad  and  dreary  heart  like  the  genial 
showers  of  autumn,  followed  by  the  sunshine  of  heaven. 
Yet  he  was  not  satisfied  to  remain,  and  desired  to  escape 
the  potent  spell.  Another  image  was  enshrined  in  his 
heart,  and  he  longed  for  the  hour  when  he  could  fly  to  his 
native  land,  then  bleeding  at  every  pore. 

One  afternoon,  at  the  close  of  a  long  summer  day,  Ed- 
ward was  sitting  alone  in  the  parlor.  It  was  beginning  to 
grow  dark,  but  the  room  had  not  yet  been  lighted,  when 
Pennie  came  in  and  gave  him  a  beautiful  boquet  of  choice 
flowers ;  then  sat  down  on  the  sofa  at  his  side,  and  began 
talking  in  a  very  amiable  mood.  She  ran  over  a  list  of 
emblems  attached  to  various  flowers,  which  spoke  the  pe- 
culiar language  of  the  affectionate  heart,  and  then  said  — 
"  But  you  do  not  understand  them.  You  do  not  know 
the  meaning  of  love." 

"  You  do  not  think  so,"  he  replied. 

"  You  once  thought  you  loved  me,  but  it  was  a  mistake," 
she  said,  with  a  smile. 

Edward  did  not  immediately  reply,  and  she  continued  : 
"  You  think  I  did  not  treat  you  in  a  becoming  manner. 
Kow  let  me  tell  you  candidly,  I  loved  you  from  the  mo- 
ment we  first  met  in  Nashville,  but  I  was  young,  proud 


116  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

and  foolish.  I  loved  you,  no  one  knows  how  well,  when  I 
told  you  we  must  part  forever." 

"Why,  Pennie!  why  did  you  then  use  deceit?" 

"  Because  I  imagined  I  must  wed  my  equal  in  wealth, 
and  thought  I  could  easily  forget  you.  Oh !  how  dearly  I 
have  paid  the  j^enalty  of  the  falsehood  I  then  acted.  Be- 
lieve me,  Edward,"  she  continued,  in  a  most  affecting 
tone,  "  I  have  never  ceased  to  love  you,  and  must  ever  re- 
gret my  follyv    Can  you  forgive  me?" 

"  Forgive  you,"  he  repeated,  taking  her  extended  hand, 
which  sent  a  magic  thrill  through  all  his  veins.  "Let  it 
be  forgotten,"  he  continued,  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  face, 
then  half  concealed  by  the  darkness. 

"  Forget  I  never  can,"  said  Pennie,  in  a  soft  and  affec- 
tionate manner.  "  It  is  the  burden  of  my  life.  You  know 
not  how  bitterly  I  have  repented  that  unworthy  act. 
Often  have  I  wept  at  my  madness,  in  thus  forever  destroy- 
ing my  own  haj^piness. 

Edward  was  deeply  moved.  Her  words  had  touched 
the  depths  of  his  heart.  He  was  thrilled  by  the  sweet 
magic  of  that  voluptuous  beauty,  whose  hand  yet  rested 
in  his  own,  and  whose  manner,  more  than  her  words, 
seemed  to  say,  "  I  am  yours  forever."  She  now  sank  for- 
ward, apparently  fainting,  in  his  arms.  Her  potent  charm 
had  acted,  and  the  young  man  was  like  one  borne  forward 
by  a  resistless  current.  He  saw  nothing  but  the  beauty 
before  him,  and,  for  a  moment,  yielded  to  the  delicious 
dream  of  a  long  forgotten  love. 

It  was  but  for  a  moment  that  Edward  submitted  to 
these  seductive  influences.  A  pure  and  beautiful  image 
arose  before  him  in  all  its  loveliness.  He  remembered  the 
sweet,  smiling  face  of  the  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains."  It 
came  to  save  —  to  woo  and  win  him  from  the  dangerous 
precipice  on  which  he  was  treading.  He  gently  lifted  the 
recumbent  form  of  the  fair  Pennie,  and  said  : 

"  You  once  possessed  my  undivided  affections,  but  now 
my  heart  is  irrevocably  fixed  on  another." 


A    STORY    OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  117 

Pennie's  whole  manner  instantly  changed.  She  sprang 
to  her  feet  and  stood  silent  a  moment,  and  then  said,  in  a 
voice  which  Edward  scarcely  recognized  : 

''  You  love  another." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Edward,  "  there  is  one  in  the  sunny  South 
who  possesses  my  undivided  aifections.  You  are  dear  to 
me  on  account  of  past  associations,  and  I  still  remember 
mj^  first  love.  Your  recent  kindness  has  placed  me  under 
new  obligations,  but  I  have  no  heart  to  give.  If  you  love 
me,  for  my  sake  and  for  your  own,  try  and  forget  the 
past ;  then,  after  a  moment,  he  added : 

"'  Under  these  circumstances,  I  think  we  should  part  as 
soon  as  possible." 

Pennie  proudly  walked  out  of  the  room  without  utter- 
inor  another  word.  The  darkness  veiled  her  countenance, 
but  could  Edward  have  seen  the  fierce  and  contending 
passions  which  marred  her  beautiful  face,  he  would  have 
trembled  for  the  consequences. 

"  The  ruling  passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 
The  ruling  passion  conquers  still." 


118  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 


CHAPTEE  XY. 

Sad  Intelligence  at  Chola. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Lena  Eston,  the  beautiful 
'^  Belle  of  the  Mountains,"  had  heard  first,  by  means  of  a 
letter  addressed  to  her  father,  that  Edward  Ashton  was 
about  to  be  married  to  a  very  accomplished  lady  —  that 
this  report  had  been  confirmed  by  a  stranger,  who  had 
arrived  at  "Chola"  on  the  same  day, —  that  Hiram  Pike 
soon  afterwards  came  to  Eavenwood  and  paid  his  respects 
to  the  object  of  his  recent  love,  and  met  with  a  signal  re- 
pulse ;  upon  which  he  left  that  place,  vowing  vengeance 
against  those  who  had  thwarted  his  purposes. 

For  some  months  after  the  occurrence  of  these  events, 
everything  moved  on  quietly  at  "  Chola,"  and  nothing 
happened  to  mar  the  peace  and  repose  of  that  small  fam- 
ily circle,  except  rumors  of  the  bloody  conflict  about  to  be 
inaugurated. 

When  the  war  opened,  Lena  had  heard  nothing  definite 
from  Edward,  Some  vague  reports  had  reached  her,  from 
time  to  time,  relative  to  his  expected  marriage  with  the 
"  Belle  of  Two  Cities,"  which  were  of  a  nature  to  create 
in  her  mind,  many  doubts  and  fears.  During  this  period, 
Yenie  rarely  ever  spoke  of  Graham,  but  she  had  recently 
grown  much  more  grave,  quiet,  and  sedate.  Some  secret 
trouble,  which  she  buried  deep  in  her  own  bosom,  seemed  to 
prc}^  upon  her  mind,  and  had  the  effect  of  often  render- 
ing her  unhappy. 

One  day  when  the  two  cousins  were  alone,  a  letter  ar- 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  119 

rived,  addressed  to  Lena  Eston.     It  was  inclosed  in  a  neat, 
white  envelope,  and  bore  the  post-mark  of  Nashville,  Ten- 
nessee. 
^   "Who  can  this  be  from?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Open  it  and  sec/'  cried  Yenie,  impatiently. 

"Can  it  be  from ?  "     She  did  not  speak  the  name, 

but  broke  the  seal. 

Edward  was  its  author,  who  informed  her  he  had  raised 
a  comjDany  and  entered  the  service  in  defence  of  his  inva- 
ded State,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  visit  "  Chola" 
according  to  his  promise,  and  that  he  hoped  she  would 
excuse  him  for  presuming  to  address  her  by  letter. 

Her  spoke  in  eloquent  language  of  his  love,  and  told 
her,  in  conclusion,  that  her  image  was  deeply  engraved  on 
his  heart,  and  could  never  be  effaced. 

She  read  this  letter  through  with  smiles  and  tears  of 
joy.  She  had  always  believed  Edward  true  and  honora- 
ble, but  every  doubt  was  now  removed.  She  could  no 
longer  suppose  that  he  could  prove  false,  since  his  own 
words  had  again  assured  her  of  his  undying  affection. 

Lena  would  now  have  been  excessively  happy,  but  the 
thought  would  obtrude  itself  into  her  mind  that  he  might 
perish  in  battle ;  but  she  soon  dismissed  these  sad  forebo- 
dings of  coming  evils,  and,  leaving  her  cousin  alone,  she 
hastened  to  her  father,  to  whom  she  handed  the  letter,  with- 
out any  comment  whatsoever.  He  perused  it  carefully,  and 
then  remarked : 

"  I  like  its  tone." 

"  You  now  think  him  innocent,"  she  said,  eagerly. 

"I  believe  it,  dear,"  he  kindly  replied;  "but  time  will 
prove  all  things  ;  "  then,  after  a  moment,  he  added  — 

"  Be  not  too  sanguine,  my  daughter.  We  may  all  ex- 
pect trials  and  crosses  in  this  world,  and  every  one  should 
be  prepared  to  endure  afflictions.  We  may  lie  down  to 
slumber  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  heaven,  but  awake 
amid  the  fiercest  storms  of  life.     The  longer  I  live,  the 


120  THE    SUNNY   LAND) 

itiore  I  see  of  the  vanities  of  earth,  the  more  I  am  im- 
pressed with  the  truth  of  those  lines  I  sometimes  have 
heard  you  sing  — 

"This  world  is  all  a  fleeting  stow 
To  man's  illusion  given, 
The  smiles  of  joy  the  tears  of  woe 
Deceitful  shine,  deceitful  flow, 

There's  nothing  true  but  heaven." 

This  unexpected  letter  had  the  effect  of  rendering  Lena 
comparatively  happy  and  contented.  During  the  succeed- 
ing fall  she  frequently  saw  Edward's  name  chronicled  in 
the  daily  journals  as  the  leader  in  some  brilliant  enterprise. 
She  read  these  accounts  with  becoming  pride,  yet  they  af- 
forded her  no  real  pleasure,  as  she  could  not  forget  that 
he  was  continually  in  danger,  and  might  at  any  time  be 
cut  down  in  the  midst  of  his  course. 

Thus  slowly  wore  away  the  summer  and  fall  of  1861, 
during  which  period  notices  in  regard  to  this  individual 
appeared  in  the  public  journals ;  but  after  the  retreat  of 
the  Confederate  army  to  Corinth,  he  seemed  to  have  sud- 
denly disappeared  from  the  stage  of  action. 

One  day  a  man  dressed  as  a  Confederate  soldier,  pre- 
sented himself  at  Mr.  Eston's  door,  where  he  was  met  by 
Mrs.  Buree,  who  had  a  natural  antipathy  to  grey.  Sh€> 
inquired  in  a  harsh  tone,  what  he  desired. 

"A  young  lady,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a  polite  bow. 

"  TVhat's  your  business  ?  "  she  asked,  sharply. 

"  My  business  is  with  a  young  lady." 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  said  Mrs.  Duree,  somewhat 
crustily. 

"Nothing,  upon  my  honor,  but  to  speak  a  moment  to 
the  lady," 

"To  whom?" 

"  Miss  Ardin ;  I  think  that  is  the  name." 

"  What  about  ?  "  she  said,  impatiently. 

"  Private  business." 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  121 

The  lady  in  question  now  made  her  ai^pcarance,  and 
Mrs.  Duree  retired  haughtily,  supposing  she  had  been 
spending  her  time  to  no  purpose,  with  some  rebel  scamp. 

Yenie  recognized  behind  the  grey  uniform,  Patrick  Me- 
gram,  who  was  well  known  in  the  neighborhood,  having 
resided  in  the  same  vicinity  with  Joseph  N"ewell,  previous 
to  the  commencement  of  the  war.  He  now  unrolled  a 
package  and  handed  her  a  letter,  which  she  instantly 
broke  open  and  read  — 

"  1°  writing  to  you  I  am  performing  a  painful  duty. 
When  I  last  met  with  Captain  Ash  ton  I  promised  him 
should  he  fall,  that  I  would  inform  Miss  Eston  of  the 
particulars  of  his  death.  It  was  reported  some  time  ago 
that  he  was  killed  in  a  cavalry  fight,  which  occurred  dur- 
ing our  retreat  from  Tennessee,  but,  as  the  enemy  held 
the  field,  we  thought  he  might  only  have  been  captured. 
*  These  reports  were  confirmed  from  various  sources,  so 
that  I  have  almost  despaired  of  ever  seeing  him  ao-ain  • 
yet  it  is  possible  that  he  might  have  been  severely  wound- 
ed, captured,  and  made  a  prisoner.  JSTot  having  received 
intelligence  from  any  source  whatsoever,  up  to  this  day  I 
communicate  to  you  what  I  have  been  able  to  learn  and 
leave  you  to  judge  whether  it  would  be  best  to  let  Miss 
Eston  know  our  worst  fears,  or  await  further  develop- 
ments. Should  I  ascertain  anything  more,  I  will  write 
without  delay.  My  kind  regards  to  yourself  and  friends 
at  "  Ghola."  May  Heaven  bless  and  lead  you  all  safely 
through  these  times  of  trouble. 

Graham  Hardee." 

Tears  gathered  in  Yenie's  eyes  as  she  read  this  letter, 
containing  such  sad  intelligence.  :N'o  selfish  thought  of 
her  own  hopeless  love  entered  her  mind.  Her  feelings 
were  absorbed  in  pity  for  her  cousin,  with  whom  she  was 
ready  to  weep  tear  for  tear. 

After  a  few  moment's  reflection,  she  repaired  to  the  li- 
brary in  search  of  her  uncle,  to  whom  she  gave  the  letter, 
but  before  he  had  finished  perusing  it,  Lena  came  in  and' 


122  THE   SUNNY    LAND; 

with  a  woman's  quick  perception,  discovered  something 
unusual  had  occurred. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  she  inquired,  turning  from  her 
confused  cousin  to  her  anxious  father,  and  then  continued: 

"  A  letter,  papa  !  who  is  it  from  ?  " 

Mr.  Eston,  seeing  that  concealment  would  be  impossible, 
replied : 

"  My  daughter,  it  seems  that  Edward  Ashton  is  a  pris- 
oner." 

"A  prisoner,"  she  said,  mechanically. 

"  Some  rumors  are  afloat  that  he  was  killed !  " 

"Killed  !  "  she  repeated,  with  a  ghastly  countenance. 

"  Only  an  idle  rumor,  I  hope,"  said  the  father. 

Lena  extended  her  trembling  hand  for  the  letter,  which 
she  hastily  read,  and  then  wildly  exclaimed : 

"Dead!  dead!!  dead!!!"  and  fell  back,  fainting  into 
the  arms  of  her  cousin. 

Eestoratives  were  immediately  applied,  with  some  suc- 
cess, but  when  aroused  to  consciousness,  another  paroxysm 
of  grief  immediately  succeeded. 

Mr.  Eston  became  more  and  more  alarmed  at  the  fear- 
ful consequences  to  be  apprehended.  The  family  physi- 
cian was  hastily  summoned,  who  examined  her  symp- 
toms with  evident  anxiety.  He  administered  some  reme- 
dies and  sat  down,  to  see  what  eftect  they  would  have  on 
the  poor  desolate  and  distressed  patient,  who  had  received 
a  shock  which  her  nervous  system  was  unable  to  sustain. 

It  would  have  moved  the  hardest  heart,  to  have  beheld 
the  lineaments  of  that  beautiful  but  sorrowful  face,  which 
revealed  the  deep  anguish  of  her  soul.  !N^otwithstanding 
all  efforts  for  her  relief,  she  gradually  became  more  and 
more  excited,  hot  and  feverish.  Brain  fever  followed,  and 
she  talked  incessantly  in  a  wild  and  incoherent  manner. 
Sometimes  she  imagined  Edward  was  present,  and  would 
address  him  in  the  most  affectionate  words ;  then  again 
she  saw  him  bleeding   on  the  battle-field,  surrounded  by 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  123 

cruel  foes,  at  whom  she  would  rave,  and  then  plead  with 
them  in  piteous  tones  to  spare  his  life. 

Thus  hour  after  hour  passed  away,  until  weary  nature 
succumbed,  and  she  gradually  sank  into  a  deep  stupor. 

During  this  time  Mrs.  Duree  was  passing  in  and  out,  and 
sometimes  administering  to  the  wants  of  the  unhappy  suf- 
ferer. She  had  already  received  a  letter  from  Hiram  Pike, 
by  the  under-ground  railroad,  and  that  had  been  mailed 
at  Knoxville,  informing  her  that  Edward  was  alive,  cap- 
tured, and  a  prisoner.  She  could  with  a  single  Avord,  have 
removed  the  cause  of  all  this  trouble,  but  she  had  long  since 
steeled  her  heart  against  all  pity.  She  was  naturally  cold, 
calculating,  unscrupulous  and  unfeeling,  and  having  made 
up  her  mind  that  Lena  should  become  the  bride  of  Hiram 
Pike,  she  would  far  sooner  have  seen  that  fair  girl  laid  in 
the  grave,  than  reveal  the  intelligence  she  possessed.  She 
then  imagined  that  Edward  would  long  be  held  a  prisoner 
of  war  —  that  the  advancing  Union  army  would  soon 
reach  North  Carolina,  and  that  by  a  little  dexterous  man- 
agement, the  heart-broken  Lena  could  be  induced  to  ac- 
cept the  offers  of  her  chosen  friend,  and  that,  should  this 
be  effected,  she  then  could  accomplish  her  ambitious 
projects. 

For  many  successive  days,  Lena  appeared  to  hover  be- 
tween life  and  death,  and  her  friends  lost  all  hopes  of  her 
recovery.  They  expected  soon  to  see  her  follow  the  dear 
idol  of  her  affections,  now  believed  to  be  dead — to  that 
"bourne  from  whence  no  traveller  returns." 


124  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 


CHAPTEPv   XYl. 

Adventures  of  Captain  Ashton. 

Mad  ALINE  Tudor,  a  lady  of  an  uncertain  age,  who  had 
never  been  successful  in  securing  a  husband,  resided  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Pennie  Eaymond.  She  was  neither 
young  nor  prepossessing,  and,  in  some  respects,  certainly 
resembled  Mary  Tudor,  the  blood  thirsty  and  bigotted 
Queen  of  England,  whose  tastes  accorded  so  remarkably 
with  her  ignoble  lord,  Philip  the  Second,  of  Spain,  who 
imagined  the  surest  way  to  win  heaven,  was  to  make  a 
hell  on  this  earth. 

Madaline  was,  at  this  period,  something  over  thirty 
years  of  age,  but  her  most  intimate  friends  would  not  have 
ventured  to  express  an  opinion  on  this  subject.  Her  face 
was  somewhat  wrinkled,  though  perhaps  not  with  years, 
her  voice  was  coarse  and  masculine,  and  she  sometimes 
suffered  under  hysterical  attacks,  which  certainly  did  not 
improve  her  natural  temperament.  She  was  also  pious, 
after  a  certain  fashion,  and  frequently  returned  her  fervent 
thanks  to  an  All-wise  Being,  that  she  was  neither  a  cop- 
perhead, slaveholder  or  rebel.  She  sometimes  expressed 
the  wish  that  she  was  a  man,  so  she  might  revenge  the 
murder  of  old  John  Brown,  and  had  she  possessed  the 
power,  she  would  have  established  the  rack  and  inquisition 
throughout  the  South  ;  but  as  she  was  only  a  woman,  she 
had  resolved  to  become  a  School  Marm,  and  proposed  to 
visit  "  the  land  of  darkness,"  in  order  to  help  civilize  the 
benighted  African.     Such  was  the  confidential  friend  of 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  125 

Pennie  Eaymond,  to  whom  she  flew,  whilst  burning  with 
rage  and  mortification,  and  took  sweet  counsel  as  to  how 
she  should  be  revenged  upon  the  helpless  Confederate. 

As  the  result  of  hasty  conference  between  those  parties, 
a  letter  was  addressed  to  Captain  Pike,  then  at  Cincinnati, 
informing  him  that  a  rebel  in  disguise  might  be  captured 
on  the  premises  of  Mr.  Raymond,  Miss  Tudor,  who  wrote 
the  letter  and  signed  her  own  name  to  it,  urged  that  all 
haste  be  made  in  order  to  secure  this  bloody  miscreant 
prowling  around  in  the  midst  of  loyal  citizens,  and  further 
declared  that  she  considered  this  man  to  be  a  dangerous 
spy,  worthy  of  a  most  infamous  death. 

When  Pennie  had  returned  home  and  grown  somewhat 
calm,  true  to  her  womanly  instincts,  she  began  to  regret 
her  hasty  action.  The  longer  she  reflected  the  more  she 
was  grieved  at  her  own  conduct.  She  soon  became  almost 
distracted,  and  wandered  about  her  room  in  the  'deepest 
distress.  She  dreaded  to  meet  Edward,  and  shut  herself 
in  her  own  apartment,  where  she  walked  the  floor  with 
rapid  strides,  revolving  in  her  mind  many  expedients  to 
save  one  she  dearly  loved  from  the  merciless  powerS  she 
had  madly  invoked.  She  finally  stood  before  the  mirror 
and  gazed  at  her  own  beautiful  face,  now  marred  by  the 
wildest  passions  which  stirred  the  depths  of  her  soul. 

"She  clasped  her  soft  silken  hands, 
And  then  the  tears  began  to  stream ; 
Large  bitter  tears  of  anguish  fills 
Her  deep  remorse  was  so  extreme." 

Unable  longer  to  endure  her  agony,  she  flew  to  the  par- 
lor and  related  to  her  mother  what  she  had  done.  Ed- 
ward Ashton  was  in  the  piazza,  and  accidentally  over- 
heard her  words.  He  remained  quiet  until  Mrs.  Raymond 
had  left  that  apartment,  then  suddenly  appeared  before 
Pennie,  who  started  at  his  approach  as  if  half  inclined  to 
make  her  escape. 

"  Have  you  betrayed  me  2  "  he  asked,  in  a  grave  tone. 


126  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

Pennie  instantly  sprang  to  her  feet,  then  sank  into  the 
chair  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Have  you  betrayed  me  ?  "  he  repeated. 

She  knew  he  had  overheard  her  words,  and  felt  no  de- 
sire to  deny  the  charge.  She  was  then  in  that  mood  when 
she  was  inclined  to  confess  her  faults,  and  after  a  moment, 
she  exclaimed  in  wild  accents,  "  Oh,  Edward,  forgive  me! " 

Her  emotion  was  so  great  she  was  unable  to  say  more, 
and  the  young  man  sat  down  to  hear  the  avowal  she  was 
about  to  make.  She  suddenly  threw  her  arms  about  his 
neck,  and  continued  in  a  passionate  tone : 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  !  It  was  all  for  love  —  disappointed 
love.  Oh  heaven !  I  am  ruined,  hopeless,  miserable.  I 
madly  betrayed  you  to  your  enemies.  Perhaps  you  will 
be  arrested  in  less  than  an  hour.  Oh,  the  dej)th  of  my 
love  !  Oh,  my  wretchedness  !  " 

As  Pennie  Raymond  concluded  these  passionate  words, 
she  sank  unconscious  into  the  young  man's  arms,  who 
gently  released  himself,  and  left  her  on  the  sofa  in  a  re- 
cumbent position.  A  painful  expression  swept  over  his 
pale  countenance  as  he  stood  gazing  at  the  beautiful  wo- 
man he  once  had  adored,  but  could  never  love  again.  He 
pitied  her  with  all  his  heart,  but  the  warm  devotion  of  his 
youth  could  never  be  recalled. 

Mrs.  Eaymond  now  returned  to  the  parlor,  and  could 
easily  see  that  something  exciting  had  occurred.  He 
turned  to  her,  and  said  : 

"  Your  daughter  has  fainted,"  and  then  went  to  his 
room,  sat  down  and  addressed  a  brief  note  to  Pennie,  in- 
forming her  of  his  determination  to  set  out  for  home,  and 
thanking  her  for  the  kindness  she  had  been  pleased  to 
bestow  upon  an  escaped  prisoner. 

Two  hours  afterwards  the  Federal  soldiers  were  ran- 
sacking this  residence  in  search  of  the  Pebel  officer. 
Pennie  had  already  perused  Edward's  letter,  but  she  held 
her  peace,  determined  not  again  to  betray  one  she  wished 
to  protect  and  shield  from  danger. 


A   STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  127 

Edward  set  out  on  foot,  and  travelled  on  as  fast  as  his 
strength  would  permit,  but  finally  became  weary,  and  sat 
down  by  the  roadside,  where  he  w'ould  be  concealed  by  a 
thick  undergrowth. 

Soon  afterwards,  two  Federal  officers  rode  up  to  a 
spring  within  ten  steps  of  his  present  position.  They 
alighted,  quenched  their  thirst,  drank  freely  from  a  flask 
of  brandy,  and  then  sat  down  to  rest.  He  could  easily 
overhear  their  words,  and  listened  to  the  following  col- 
loquy : 

"I  say,  Lieutenant  Puffaway,  how  long  will  we  have  to 
await  their  return  ?"  evidently  referring  to  the  men  sent 
out  in  search  of  the  escaped  rebel. 

"I'll  be  dad-seized  if  I  know,"  he  rej^lied,  "they  may 
pursue  him  to  the  river." 

"  I'll  not  go  another  step,  I'll  be  smashed  if  I  do,"  con- 
tinued the  first  speaker. 

"  We  must  obey  orders.  Sergeant  Fukey." 

"  Orders  thunder,"  he  exclaimed,  "  our  orders  come 
from  Captain  Pike,  who  has  no  authority." 

"  He  is  acting  under  the  command  of  the  Provost  Mar- 
shal." 

"  I'll  be  dumbfounded  if  I  ride  any  further  to  arrest  a 
cowardly,  sneaking  rebel,  because  he  once  gave  Pike  a  scar 
on  his  face." 

"  I  am  tired  of  this  game,  any  how,"  said  Mr.  Puffaway, 
to  which  he  appended  a  long  list  of  oaths,  and  then  con- 
tinued, "  I  want  to  get  down  South  amongst  the  infernal 
Eebs.  Our  men  don't  half  fight.  It  makes  my  blood 
boil  to  think  how  they  hold  our  armies  at  bay  with  a 
handful  of  men." 

We  must  have  our  company  transferred  South,  and  en- 
joy the  glorious  fighting,"  said  Sergeant  Fukey,  and  then 
sang  out,  "  where  we  can  have  our  share  of  the  plunder, 
booty  and  beauty." 

"I  wish  w^e  could  come  across  that  Eeb.  Hiram  is  so  anxi- 
ous to  have  him  taken.     I'd  like  to  see  him  overhauled." 


128  THE    SUNNY    LAND,* 

"  I  would  be  pleased  to  crop  bis  ears,"  continued  bis 
companion.  "  Tbe  impudent  scamp  bas  been  up  bere  fly- 
ing around  Pennie  — my  own  sweet  Pennie  —  my  darling 
Pennie,"  and  tben,  after  a  moment,  be  added :  "  Mind,  we 
are  to  drop  bim  by  tbe  way.  Tbe  Captain  said  not  to 
bring  bim  in  as  a  prisoner." 

"  He  must  be  a  brazen-faced  scamp,"  said  tbe  Lieuten- 
ant. 

"  A  brazen-faced  rebel  tbat  ricbly  deserves  bemp,"  added 
bis  companion. 

Edward,  wbo  bad  overbeard  all  tbey  bad  said,  observed 
tbat  tbey  bad  unbuckled  tbeir  belts  and  laid  aside  tbeir 
navy  pistols  before  tbey  bad  lain  down  on  tbe  green  grass, 
and  be  now  formed  tbe  bold  design  of  capturing  tbem, 
and  tbus  providing  bim  self  witb  a  borse  upon  wbicb  be 
migbt  escape.  Before  tbey  were  aware  of  it,  be  bad 
reacbed  tbeir  arms,  and  was  ready  for  tbe  conflict.  Tbey 
sprang  to  their  feet  instantly,  wben  be  presented  tbe  pis- 
tols and  exclaimed : 

"  Surrender,  or  you  are  dead  men." 

Tbe  surprised  officials  stood  trembling  in  speecbless 
astonisbment,  frightened  half  out  of  their  wits,  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  in  this  emergency.  After  a  moment,  Edward 
added : 

"  If  either  of  you  move,  I  will  put  a  ball  through  you 
instantly." 

"  Who  are  you  ? "  stammered  out  Lieutenant  Puff'a- 
way. 

"  Tbe  man  you  desired  to  see,  the  proscribed  rebel  you 
are  so  anxious  to  capture,  whose  ears  you  have  threatened 
to  take  off.  If  you  live  to  see  Captain  Pike,  please  give 
him  my  respects." 

*'  So  you  are  the  rebel,"  said  the  trembling  lEr.  Fukey. 

"  Yes,  rebel.  I  glory  in  the  name  rebel.  Washington 
was  a  rebel  patriot.*' 

"  Please,  Mr.  Eebel,"  said  Sergeant  Fukey,  "  don't  hold 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  129 

that  loaded  2:)istoI  so  near  my  breast,  for  it  might  acciden- 
tally go  off  and  do  some  harm." 

"His  majesty,  King  Abraham,  would  not  lose  a  valua- 
ble soldier  if  it  should,"  remarked  Edward,  and  after  a 
moment,  he  continued : 

"I  have  concluded  to  give  you  a  chance  for  your  lives." 

"  What !  "  they  exclaimed,  eagerly. 

"  Do  you  see  a  walnut  tree  at  the  side  of  the  road,  near 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  this  place?" 

"  Yes,"  they  both  replied. 

"  Kow,  you  shall  go  scot  free,  provided  you  can  run  to  it 
in  two  minutes." 

"We  will  try  it,"  said  Sergeant  Fukey,  "  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  shoot." 

"  You  need  not  fear,  for  I  have  no  thought  of  wasting 
ammunition  as  long  as  you  obey  orders.  These  horses 
and  pistols  I  confiscate  in  the  name  of  the  Confederate 
States.  This  I  have  a  perfect  right  to  do,  as  ive  are  ac- 
knowledged to  be  armed  belligerents.  Now,  run  for  dear 
life." 

The  captured  officers  needed  no  second  bidding  to  flee, 
but  instantly  took  to  their  heels.  A  smile  broke  over  Ed- 
ward's countenance  at  the  ridiculous  scene  they  were 
enacting,  but  it  was  only  for  a  moment  he  could  enjoy  it; 
for  immediately  afterwards  he  perceived  the  returning 
Federals  approaching  in  the  opposite  direction.  He  in- 
stantly mounted  the  best  horse,  and  struck  into  a  cross- 
road, followed  by  a  yelling  pack  of  Yankees.  It  was  now 
a  race  for  dear  life,  and  much  depended  on  the  endurance 
of  their  animals.  Edward  turned  to  the  left  at  every  road 
that  permitted,  and  finally  regained  the  thoroughfare  he 
had  left  in  order  to  avoid  the  Federals. 

The  contest  now  began  in  earnest.     Pursuers  and  pur- 
sued went  thundering  on,  over  hill  and  dale,  by  farm  and 
country  seat.     It  was  a  swift  race,  in  which  neither  party 
lost  a  single  movement. 
6* 


130  "        THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

A  new  danger  suddenly  appeared.  A  company  of  Federal 
cavalry  had  halted,  and  were  resting  at  the  roadside; 
some  of  them  blocked  his  way,  and  could  easily  stop  his 
headlono-  fliorht.  Seeing  no  other  alternative,  he  dashed 
into  the  midst  of  the  astonished  blue-coats.  As  he  passed, 
he  narrowly  escaped  many  sabre  strokes,  and  a  number  of 
shots  were  fired,  which  whistled  harmlessly  over  his  head. 

He  saw  with  increasing  alarm,  that  he  would  certainly 
be  captured  if  he  remained  on  his  failing  horse,  and  began 
to  think  of  deserting  it  and  trying  to  make  his  escape  on 
foot.  He  looked  in  vain  for  a  thick  wood  or  deep  ravine 
that  might  afford  him  some  protection  against  the  enemy. 
It  seemed  that  he  must  again  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
Yankees,  when,  to  complete  his  misfortune,  his  horse  sud- 
denly blundered,  threw  him  from  the  saddle,  and  left  him 
prostrate  on  the  ground,  apparently  at  the  mercy  of  the 
Federals,  who  raised  a  yell  of  triumph,  and  dashed  for- 
ward to  secure  the  fallen  foe. 

He  was  somewhat  stunned  by  the  fall,  but  sprang  to  his 
feet  as  a  number  of  balls  whistled  by  his  head,  and  turned 
to  flee  in  the  direction  of  a  neighboring  woodland. 

"  Halt !  "  cried  the  advancing  Federals. 

Edward  had  reserved  the  loaded  pistols,  which  he  had 
that  da}'  captured,  for  whatsoever  emergency  might  arise, 
and  the  moment  had  arrived  when  he  must  act  in  self  de- 
fence. As  a  Federal  soldier  took  deliberate  aim,  he  has- 
tily fired,  struck  him  in  the  arm,  and  probably  thus  saved 
his  own  life.  Again  he  discharged  his  weapon,  and  brought 
the  foremost  horse  and  rider  to  the  earth. 

He  now  fled,  followed  by  a  shower  of  bullets,  and 
reached  the  neighboring  thicket  in  safety.  He  rapidly 
passed  through  a  dense  undergrowth,  entered  a  forest,  and 
was  successful  in  eluding  all  his  pursuers. 

He  spent  that  night  in  a  dreary  woodland.  It  was 
cloudy,  dark,  and  rained  without  intermission.  He  was 
wet,  cold  and  hungry,  but  he  willingly  bore  all  these  suf- 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  131 

ferings,  rather  than   endure  the  horrors  of  a  Northern 
prison. 

These  long,  sleepless  hours  finally  passed  away,  and  the 
light  of  a  new  day  appeared,  when  he  advanced  to  the 
edge  of  the  forest,  and  learned  that  he  was  near  the  land- 
ing he  wished  to  reach,  but  discovered  that  it  was  guard- 
ed. He  immediately  set  out  down  the  river,  keeping  as 
much  as  possible  under  the  cover  of  the  forest,  and  on  the 
following  day  succeeded  in  crossing  over  into  Kentucky. 

It  is  not  our  purpose  to  follow  Edward  through  the 
wonderful  adventures  which  now  ensued.  He  was  cap- 
tured and  imprisoned  in  the  interior  of  that  State,  but 
after  some  months,  made  his  escape.  He  then  fell  in  with 
an  independent  company  of  mounted  Confederates,  and 
being  unable  to  proceed  direct  home,  remained  with  that 
body.  The  captain  in  command  of  it  was  killed  in  an  en- 
gagement soon  afterwards,  and  Edward  was  immediately 
selected  as  their  leader.  He  accepted  this  position  for  a 
short  period,  and  began  a  series  of  movements  to  the  great 
annoyance  and  injury  of  the  enemy. 

Early  in  the  following  spring,  the  advance  of  the  Fed- 
eral army  made  it  necessary  that  they  should  give  up  that 
portion  of  Kentucky,  and  he  slowly  retreated  towards 
East  Tennessee.  A  few  days  afterwards  he  reached  the 
foot  of  the  Cumberland  Mountains  and  halted  in  a  strong 
position,  well  fortified  by  nature. 

On  that  same  afternoon  a  couple  of  secret  emissaries, 
on  their  way  to  Knoxville,  were  captured  with  a  large 
number  of  letters,  amongst  which  there  was  one  directed 
to  Mrs.  Adaline  Buree,  Eavenwood,  North  Carolina,  which 
read  as  follows  : 

"Yours  of  last  month  has  been  received.  I  am  sorry 
to  hear  that  Miss  E.  took  the  supposed  death  of  her  rebel 
lover  so  much  to  heart.  Hope  she  will  soon  recover.  I 
send  this  letter  by  underground  rainoad^  and  it  will  be 
mailed  at  Knoxville.     I  expect  to  set  out  for  that  place  in 


132  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

a  few  days  on  a  secret  missioD,  and  will  then  write  again. 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  became  of  dead  Beh.  after  his 
escape  across  the  Ohio.     Do  not  let  it  be  known  that  he 

is   alive."  ,  :?;*:»:    ^ 

There  was  no  name  attached  to  that  note,  but  Edward 
was  confident  it  emanated  from  Hiram  Pike.  He  saw  by 
its  date  that  it  had  been  delayed  some  three  weeks,  and 
thought  it  probable  that  his  bitter  enemy  had  already 
crossed  the  mountains.  He  knew  by  its  contents  that  this 
Yankee  Captain  had  been  playing  a  deep  game,  in  order  to 
win  the  hand  of  "the  Belle  of  the  ^Mountains,"  and  he  re- 
solved to  hasten  on  to  Knoxville  and  thwart  all  his  vil- 
lainous schemes. 

An  hour  afterwards,  three  persons,  dressed  as  citizens, 
were  brought  into  the  presence  of  Captain  Ashton.  One 
of  these  was  Hiram  Pike,  Edward's  implacable  enemy. 

''How  is  it,"  said  Edward,  "that  you  are  here  in 
citizens'  dress?" 

"  I  am  not  now  connected  with  the  army,"  he  meekly 
replied. 

"  What  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  in  search  of  a  sick  friend,"  he  replied. 

"  Have  you  any  evidence  that  you  are  not  a  spy,  bound 
for  East  Tennessee  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  that  I  am  not  connected  with  the  army," 
he  answered,  evasively. 

"  Once,"  said  Edward,  "  when  I  was  a  prisoner,  you  en- 
deavored to  have  me  murdered.  Again,  in  Ohio,  you  sent 
a  squad  of  soldiers  to  arrest  and  kill  me.  You  have 
proved  my  persistent  enemy,  without  cause,  but  I  will 
not  retaliate,"  then,  after  a  moment,  he  added,  "  here  is  a 
letter  which  requires  some  explanation." 

Hiram  received  with  a  trembling  hand  the  note  ad- 
dressed to  Mrs.  Duree,  and  pretended  to  peruse  its  con- 
tents. He  imagined  that  he  would  be  immediately  hung 
as  a  spy,  unless  he  could  save  himself  by  some  desperate 
expedient. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAr/  133 

The  prisoner  had  before  observed  that  only  two  guards 
remained,  and  began  to  weigh  his  chances  of  escape.  lie 
had  a  loaded  pistol  concealed  in  the  leg  of  his  boot,  which 
his  captors  had  overlooked,  and  he  was  much  tempted  to 
shoot  his  dreaded  enemy,  and  then  flee  for  his  life. 

As  Edward  stooped  to  gather  up  a  letter  which  lay  at 
his  feet,  Hiram  Pike  drew  the  pistol  and  fired.  The  next 
moment  he  dashed  over  the  prostrate  form  of  his  hated 
rival,  and  rushed  down  the  steep  and  almost  impassable 
mountain  side.  He  soon  reached  a  deep  ravine  overhuno- 
with  laurel,  and  disappeared  from  the  view  of  the  aston- 
ished Confederates, 


134  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 


CHAPTEE  XYII. 

A  Happy  Reunion  at  Montvale. 

It  is  the  business  of  professed  teachers  in  Israel  to 
preach  the  everlasting  gospel  of  peace,  and  to  point  out 
to  erring  men,  the  road  which  leads  to  a  happy  immortal- 
ity ;  and  it  is  a  lamentable  fact  that  many  ministers,  re- 
presenting various  denominations  in  the  so-called  loyal 
States,  forsook  their  holy  calling,  during  the  recent  war, 
and  may  justly  be  held  accountable  for  much  sectional 
strife  which  then  prevailed.  They  descended  fi'om  their 
position  as  ambassadors  of  reconciliation,  to  the  level  of 
common  demagogues ;  they  wallowed  in  the  filth  and  mire 
of  party  spirit,  and  neglected  to  keep  their  garments  "  un- 
spotted from  the  world."  They  turned  from  the  precepts 
they  had  long  inculcated,  to  stir  up  strife  between  neigh- 
bors, and  frequently  profaned  the  Lord's  Day  by  delivering 
passionate  harangues  and  bitter  phillippics  against  their 
brethren  of  the  South,  because  they  claimed  the  inherent 
right  of  self-government.  They  labored  to  arouse  the 
worst  passions  of  the  people  by  appealing  to  their  preju- 
dices ;  made  broad  their  philacteries,  stained  with  human 
blood,  and  considered  themselves  competent 

"  To  ride  on  the  whirlwind,  and  direct  the  storm." 

They  displayed  a  gross,  perverted  and  vindictive  spirit, 
inimical  to  true  Christianity,  and  in  open  violation  of  the 
great  law  of  love.  They  ignored  the  principles  of  peace, 
denounced  brotherly  kindness  as  treasonable,  omitted  "the 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  135 

weightier  matters  of  faith,"  gave  themselves  up  to  "bitter- 
ness, wrath,  malice,  and  evil  speaking,"  tortured  the  Word 
of  God  to  prove  the  soundness  of  their  bloody  doctrines, 
demonstrating  by  their  conduct, 

"  The  narrow  soul 
Knows  not  the  God-like  glory  of  forgiveness." 

They  were  strangers  to  that  charity  which  "suffereth 
long  and  is  kind,"  blinded  by  prejudice  and  so  overcome 
by  the  evil  propensities  of  their  perverted  natures ;  that 
they  despised  the  brethen  whom  they  had  deeply  injured : 
again  demonstrating  — 

"  It  is  the  wit  and  policj  of  sin 
To  hate  the  men  we  have  abused." 

There  were  some  ministers  in  the  l^orth  who  stood  firm 
against  the  waves  of  the  popular  delusion  which  then  swept 
over  the  land,  and  amongst  those  that  bowed  their  heads 
to  the  storm,  all  were  not  alike  guilty.  Some  were  delu- 
ded fanatics,  who  imagined  they  were  honoring  God  by 
p>reaching  foul  murder,  whilst  others  were  but  "  wolves  in 
sheeps'  clothing,"  who  wished  to  gain  notoriety.  Happy, 
indeed,  will  be  the  time  when  all  Churches  shall  learn  their 
true  mission :  when  ministers  will  alone  preach  the  gos- 
pel, when  ecclesiastical  assemblies  will  "render  iinto 
Cffisar  the  things  that  pertain  to  Caesar,"  and  when  "  blind 
guides  "  will  be  muzzled,  and  cease  their  wicked,  unchrist- 
ian and  abominable  tirades  against  those  who  do  not  ao-ree 
with  them  on  national  and  political  questions. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  July,  we  would  introduce 
them  into  the  dwelling  of  the  Eev.  Milton  Eankin,  then 
making  an  humble  country  seat  a  few  miles  from  Knox- 
ville,  his  temporary  home.  He  sat  resting  his  elbow  on  a 
table ;  an  unfinished  manuscript  lay  before  him,  and  some 
theological  books  and  periodicals  were  at  his  side,  bearino- 
evidence  of  having  been  much  used. 

Early  in  life  he  had  received  a  thorough  education,  and 


136  .     THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

his  mind  was  well  versed  in  all  moral,  theological  and  po- 
litical questions.  He  was  kind,  affable  and  always  ready- 
to  do  good.  He  had  endured  many  trials,  and  came  out 
of  the  furnace  purified.  A  lovely  daughter,  in  the  first 
bloom  of  womanhood,  had  pined  away  and  died ;  and  re- 
cently an  only  son  had  perished  whilst  nobly  battling 
against  the  invaders  of  his  native  State.  In  the  midst  of 
all  his  sorrows,  he  did  not  despair,  and  was  enabled  to  say, 
''  The  Lord  gave  and  the  Lord  hath  taken  away  :  blessed 
be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

This  venerable  Teacher  in  Israel  had  long  been  pastor  of  a 
Church  in  West  Tennessee.  Here  he  had  possessed  every 
worldly  comfort  that  heart  could  desire,  and  was  loved, 
respected  and  esteemed  ;  but  when  the  invader  reached 
that  region,  this  house  was  seized  for  military  purposes ; 
he  was  forbidden  to  preach  "  a  gospel  of  peace ;  "  his  prop- 
erty was  destroyed,  and  he  was  finally  arrested  without 
cause,  and  sent  through  the  lines  as  an  obnoxious  Eebel. 

He  remained  seated  in  the  same  position,  until  the  door 
opened,  and  a  young  man  entered,  wearing  the  uniform  of 
a  Confederate  officer. 

"  I  suppose  you  do  not  remember  me,"  he  said.  "  My 
name  is  Edward  Ashton." 

''Edward  Ash  ton!  "  exclaimed  the  grey-headed  minis- 
ter, as  he  extended  his  hand;  "I  am  indeed  happy  to  meet 
with  the  son  of  the  best  friend  I  ever  possessed." 

"Years  have  passed  away  since  I  sat  under  the  sound 
of  your  voice,"  continued  Edward. 

"  Yes,  many  years,"  repeated  the  aged  minister. 

"Years  full  of  trouble,"  then  added,  abruptly:  "You 
are  thin  and  pale." 

"  Yes,"  repeated  Edward  ;  "  I  have  recently  been  ill,  and 
for  some  months  have  been  exposed  to  many  hardships." 

Edward  now  related  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been 
captured,  made  his  escape,  and  finally  reached  East  Ten- 
nessee; passing  lightly  over  some  of  his  wonderful  ad- 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  137 

ventures.  When  he  came  to  speak  of  Captain  Pike's  at- 
tempt to  take  his  life  at  the  Cumberland  mountain  camp, 
he  said,  "  I  avoided  the  ball  by  falling  flat  on  the  ground, 
and  he  instantly  dashed  over  me,  no  doubt,  supposing  he 
had  accomplished  his  design.  I  sprang  up  and  ran  to  the 
brink  of  the  precipice,  as  he  entered  a  deep  ravine  and 
disappeared." 

Mrs.  Rankin,  whom  Edward  remembered  with  pleasure, 
now  came  in,  and  joined  in  the  conversation.  She  was 
intelligent,  mild,  generous  and  unassuming,  exerting  a 
strong  influence  for  good  in  the  circle  of  society  in  which 
she  moved. 

Edward  was  pressed  to  remain  some  time,  and  to  go  Avith 
them  to  Montvale  Spring,  where  they  intended  to  spend 
several  weeks.  As  his  health  was  feeble,  he  finally  con- 
cluded to  accept  the  kind  invitation,  and  on  the  following 
day  they  proceeded  to  that  well  known  summer  resort.  It 
was  late  on  the  following  morning  after  they  had  reached 
the  Springs  when  Edward  awoke;  and  at  breakfast  he  did 
not  recognize  a  single  acquaintance  but  Mr.  Eankin  and 
his  lady.  That  day  proved  hot,  sultr}^  and  disagreeable, 
for  which  reason  he  kept  quiet  until  about  sunset,  when  a 
refreshing  breeze  sprang  up,  and  he  concluded  to  take 
some  exercise  in  the  open  air. 

He  first  walked  to  the  fountain,  renowned  for  its  medi- 
cinal properties,  drank  of  its  healing  waters,  and  then  be- 
gan to  ascend  an  abrupt  eminence,  whose  summit  was 
covered  with  vine-clad  arbors.  He  soon  reached  the  high- 
est point,  and  stood  gazing  at  the  merry  groups  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  promenading  in  the  park  below,  apparently 
as  light-hearted  and  free  from  care,  as  if  they  were  not 
surrounded  with  all  the  perils  of  war. 

It  was  now  quiet  eve  —  an  hour  for  contemplation  — 
when  we  love  to  recall  the  past  and  dream  of  the  future. 
Edward  began  to  muse  on  the  events  of  "  other  years ;  " 
to  dwell  on   the  joys  ^of  childhood,  youth   and  manhood, 


138  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

which  fell  on  his  heart  like  the  calm  melody  of  distant 
music  — sweet  and  mournful  to  tiie  soul;  and  then  followed 
the  smiling  image  of  the  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains,"  whose 
charms  could  never  be  forgotten. 

From  the  day  when  fair  Helen  aroused  all  Greece  to 
arms,  and  carried  on  that  fierce  contest  which  laid  Troy 
in  ruins;  from  the  period  when  Cleopatra,  the  proud, 
haughty  and  voluptuous  Queen  of  Egypt,  won  the  heart 
of  Anthony  "  by  charms  irresistible,"  and  involved  the 
JRoman  Empire  in  a  bloody  civil  strife,  beauty  has  reigned 
in  the  hearts  of  men,  sometimes  leading  them  on  to  fame, 
honor  and  immortality;  sometimes  directing  their  feet  in 
the  paths  of  peace  and  happiness,  and  then  again  marking 
out  for  them  a  fearful  destiny.  Beauty,  like  the  luminary 
of  heaven,  dispenses  its  beams  far  and  wide  over  mankind, 
charming,  winning  and  controlling  the  suj^posed  "lords 
of  creation,"  who  are  slow  to  acknowledge  the  sceptre  to 
which  they  bow  in  humble  reverence. 

At  the  same  time,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the  reigrn 
of  beauty  is  evanescent,  unless  coupled  with  a -well  culti- 
vated mind,  a  good  disposition,  warm  affections,  and  a 
tender,  virtuous  heart, 

'"Tis  the  stainless  soul  within 
That  outstands  the  fairest  skin." 

Edward's  reflections  were  cut  short  by  some  approach- 
ing party.  He  turned  his  head  and  perceived  three  ladies 
advancing,  then  half  concealed  by  the  clustering  vines. 
He  first  saw  Yenie  Ardin ;  and  the  next  moment  Lena  Es- 
ton,  emerged  into  full  view,  but  oh!  how  changed  she 
now  appeared  to  Edward.     She  was  pale,  sad  and  dejected. 

Lena's  eyes  fell  on  Edward  and  she  started  back,  as  if 
some  fearful  apparition  had  suddenly  made  its  appearance. 
She  had  long  mourned  for  him  as  dead,  but  there  he  stood 
smiling  in  her  pathway. 

"  Edward  Ashton !  "  exclaimed  Yenie. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  139 

His  heart  was  too  full  for  utterance,  but  he  advanced 
and  took  them  by  their  hands,  and  fondly  said : 

"  This  is  more  happiness  than  I  anticipated.  May  I 
call  you  my  own  ?  "  he  continued,  as  he  clasped  in  his  arms 

the  blushing  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains." 

****** 

Let  the  curtains  fall  on  this  joyful  re-union — this 
scene  far  too  holy,  pure  and  sacred,  to  be  exposed  to  the 
gaze  of  a  heartless  and  sneering  world.  Their  happiness 
was  alone  marred  by  the  sad  thought  that  they  would 
soon  be  parted  again  by  the  ruthless  hand  of  a  relentless 
war. 


140  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 


CHAPTEE    XYIII. 

Chickamauga,  or  River  of  Death. 

The  country  around  Chattanooga  is  one  of  the  fairest 
regions  beneath  the  sun.  It  is  generally  fertile,  and  shroud- 
ed in  dense  forests,  broken  here  and  there  with  extensive 
farms,  and  variegated  by  high  hills,  abrupt  precipices,  and 
lofty  mountains.     Here,  too,  was  the  home  of 

"Plain  innocence; 
Unsullied  beauty;  sound,  unbroken  youth  ; 
Health  ever-blooming  ;  unambitious  toil ; 
Calm  contemplation,  and  poetic  ease." 

The  Tennessee  Eiver,  now  rendered  forever  memorable  in 
the  annals  of  the  Eepublic,  flows  through  this  picturesque 
region,  where  the  western  armies  were  marshalled  in  the 
fall  of  1863,  and  long  struggled  for  the  mastery.  It  was  here 
that  distinguished  commanders  opposed  each  other,  with 
every  art  and  stratagem  known  to  modern  warfare.  They 
alternately  advanced  and  retreated,  marched  and  counter- 
marched ;  playing  the  most  extraordinary  games,  on  a  vast 
chequer-hoard  dotted  over  with  bayonets,  and  glistening 
with  all  the  panoply  of  war.  Here  heroes  met,  fought, 
and  fell,  whose  names  were  soon  forgotten,  except  by  a  few 
weeping  friends. 

Such  has  ever  been  the  fate  of  cruel  war.  The  great 
mass  of  people  mingle  in  the  strife,  and  freely  pour  out 
their  blood.  They  strive  manfully  to  win  the  victory,  but 
do  not  live  to  share  in  the  triumph.  "  They  die  unknown, 
unwept,  and  unsung." 


A    STORY   OP    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  141 

The  da}-  on  which  the  well  contested  battle  of  Chicka- 
maiiga  was  fought,  now  approached  — a  day  which  made 
unnumbered  widows  and  orphans  — a  day  which  caused 
many  tears  to  be  shed,  and  filled  the  whole  land  with 
mourning.  War  is  but  splendid  murder:  but  barbarous 
human  butchery. 

On  the  night  preceding  this  bloody  conflict,  Major  Har- 
dee sat  at  a  camp-fire,  indulging  in  a  long  train  of  reflec- 
tions, and  near  him  was  an  aged  Colonel,  resting  his  weary 
limbs  after  the  labors  of  the  day.  He  leaned  back  against 
a  decayed  log,  fixed  his  eyes  thoughtfully  on  the  blazing 
wood,  and  then  said,  in  a  quiet  tone : 

"  Major,  there  is  a  hot  day  before  us/' 

"  I  expect  we  will  soon  have  a  general  engagement " 
replied  Major  Hardee.  ' 

Col.  Hastings  lighted  his  pipe,  and  then  continued,  in  a 
grave  tone  : 

"I  am  an  old  man:  I  have  endured  much;  but  I  am 
willing  to  suffer  much  more,  before  submitting  to  Yankee 
rule.  They  drove  me  into  the  army,  by  a  long  process 
of  unmitigated  cruelty ;  they  destroyed  my  property, 
and  then  banished  me,  together  with  my  wife  and  two 
daughters,  from  my  native  State,  and  made  us  houseless 
wanderers  in  a  strange  land." 

The  aged  Colonel  sat  with  clenched  hands  and  a  con- 
tracted  brow,  as  he  proceeded  to  relate  his  grievances,  but 
he  finally  became  calm,- and  said,  in  a  grave  and  mourn- 
ful voice : 

"Something  seems  to  tell  me  that  to-morrow  will  be  my 
last  fight,  and  that  before  another  sun  shall  set,  my  un- 
happy wife  and  daughters  will  be  alone,  in  the  midst  of 
this  cruel  war." 

"  I  think  we  will  be  victorious  in  the  approaching  en- 
gagement," said  Graham. 

"I  believe  we  will,"  said  the  Colonel,  mournfully,  "but 
what  will  it  profit  us,  when  even  our  victories  are  slowly 


142  THE    SUNNY   LAND  ; 

jet  surely  exhausting  all  our  resources.  The  J^orthern 
people  can  waste  the  men  ;  they  are  becoming  rich,  and 
can  afford  to  continue  the  contest,  but  we  have  no  soldiers 
to  sj^are." 

Col.  Hastings  now  spread  out  his  blanket,  and  soon  fell 
into  a  deep  sleep.  Graham  remained  alone,thinking  of  the 
horrors  of  the  wearisome  war,  and  longing  for  a  return  of 
peace.  He  next  thought  of  Jennie  Wilson,  his  affianced, 
from  whom  he  had  long  been  separated,  and  lastly  came 
the  bright  image  of  Yenie  Ardin. 

He  heard  an  advancing  footstep,  turned  his  head,  and 
his  eyes  rested  on  the  features  of  a  friend  he  believed 
had  perished  in  battle.  He  instantly  sprang  to  his  feet, 
and  exclaimed  : 

"  Edward  Ashton  !     Is  it  possible  ?  " 

They  shook  hands,  embraced,  and  then  sat  down  to  give 
each  other  a  hasty  account  of  their  respective  wanderings 
and  adventures.  After  conversing  some  time,  Graham 
said: 

"  I  wrote  to  Yenie  Ardin,  that  you  were  believed  to 
be  dead.     I  suppose  Miss  Eston  thinks  it  true.^^ 

"  She  has  had  evidence  to  the  contrary,"  replied  Ed- 
ward. "  I  parted  with  her  at  Montvale,  a  few  weeks  ago," 
and  then  added: 

"Yenie  Ardiu  was  there." 

"  As  sweet,  and  happy,  and  smiling  as  ever,"  said 
Graham. 

"  As  fair  as  ever,"  replied  Edward,  thoughtfully,  "  but 
perhaps  not  so  happy." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  ever  met  that  lovely  girl,"  continued  Gra- 
ham, in  a  sad  tone. 

"  She  loves  you,"  was  the  pointed  reply. 

'•  I  hope  not,"  said  Graham,  "  for  I  am  bound  to  an- 
other. It  would  greatly  increase  my  misery  to  know  that 
she  also  loved  in  vain." 

They  soon  afterwards  lay  down  together  on  a  blanket. 


A    STORY    or    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  143 

and  fell  into  a  deep  sleep,  perchance  to  dream  of  loved 
ones  far  awAy.  A  multitude  of  war-worn  veterans  were 
slumbering  on  this  tented  field — taking  their  last  repose, 
before  they  would  rest  in  the  long  dreamless  sleep  of  death. 

The  night  passed  away,  and  early  dawn  appeared.  The 
soldiers  awoke  at  the  first  signal,  and  prepared  to  meet 
the  stern  realities  of  that  fearful  day.  Edward  bade  fare- 
well to  his  friend  and  repaired  to  his  own  company  of 
mounted  men.  The  regiment  to  which  he  was  attached 
was  soon  ordered  forward,  but  had  not  advanced  far,  until 
they  were  saluted  by  a  terrific  fire,  from  a  neighboring 
hill.  They  gradually  fell  back,  as  the  enemy  advanced, 
and  were  finally  ordered  to  the  rear,  where  they  long  re- 
mained, in  full  view  of  a  considerable  portion  of  the  bat- 
tle-field. 

Now  the  battle  of  Chickamauga,  or  river  of  death,  as 
its  Indian  name  signifies,  began  with  increased  fury.  The 
hostile  coherts  advanced,  with  firm,  unwavering  ranks,  and 
stood  in  grim  array  on  the  uneven  banks  of  that  dark  and 
gloomy  stream,  whilst 

"  High  up  in  the  air  the  vulture  soars, 
Wond'ring  the  while,  the  deep-toned  thunder  roars  ; 
And  dim  smoke  circles  through  the  air 
Like  winged  giants  riding  in  the  gale. 
>if  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 

The  strong  battalions  of  the  haughty  foe, 
Like  surging  billows,  moved  to  and  fro, 
Charge  and  retreat,  then  onward  charge  again, 
With  fearful  yell,  but  charge  and  charge  in  vain. 
Firm  as  a  rock  on  ocean's  storm-beat  strand, 
The  solid  ranks  of  Southern  soldiers  stand  ! 
A  fiery  sheet  rolls  from  their  lines,  while  loud 
Artillery  throws  out  its  sulphurous  cloud, 
And  screaming  shells  go  whistling  thro'  the  air." 

The  roar  of  the  conflict  increased,  as  the  day  advanced. 
Battery  after  battery  opened,  with  deafening  peals,  and  the 
thunder  of  battle  made  the  surrounding  hills  quake  and 
tremble.    It  was  awful,  grand,  and  sublime,  beyond  all  des- 


144  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

cription,to  behold  these  furious  combatants,  as  they  met  in 
wild  affray,  where  heroes  were  struggling  for  the  mastery. 
Anon !  the  artillery  burst  forth  with  redoubled  fury,  and 
every  neighboring  eminence  was  wreathed  in  smoke  and 
flame.  Peal  after  peal,  followed  without  intermission  — 
death  shots  whistled  through  the  air  in  ceaseless  showers 
—  whole  ranks  sank  to  rise  no  more  —  still  on  they  press- 
ed, charged,  mingled,  and  fell,  in  one  promiscuous  heap. 

"  Louder  swelled  the  battle  cry  ; 
Flaming  sword  and  flashing  eye 
Light  the  field  where  freemen  die, 
Death  or  Liberty." 

The  day  began  to  wane,  but  the  roar  of  battle  had  not 
ceased.  Thousands  had  perished,  but  the  wearied  hosts 
yet  grappled  for  victory.  Finally  a  shout  of  triumph  an- 
nounced that  the  Yankees  were  falling  back,  and  a  multi- 
tude of  horsemen  charged  upon  the  retreating  hosts,  but 
here  they  found  no  Manassas  rout,  but  veteran  foes,  terrible 
even  in  defeat. 

Edward  was  ordered  to  lead  his  company  through  a 
narrow  defile,  make  a  long  circuit,  and,  if  possible,  destroy 
a  certain  bridge  in  the  rear  of  the  enemy.  After  consid- 
erable fighting,  he  reached  the  desired  point,  but  found  it 
guarded  by  a  strong  force,  and  saw,  at  a  glance,  he  could 
not  possibly  accomplish  the  enterprise.  The  next  moment 
a  masked  battery  opened  on  his  small  band,  a  most  destruc- 
tive fire,  and  an  overwhelming  force  of  mounted  Federals 
cut  off  his  retreat. 

The  Confederates  dashed  upon  the  enemy  with  a  most 
unearthly  yell,  determined  to  make  their  escape,  and  a 
terrible  hand-to-hand  fight  ensued.  It  proved  a  short  but 
bloody  conflict.  Edward,  at  the  head  of  a  few  brave  men,  cut 
his  way  through  his  numerous  assailants,  but  found  a  fresh 
force  ready  to  cut  off  all  retreat.  Being  determined  not  to 
surrender,  he  again  plunged  into  the  midst  of  the  Federals, 
and  mingled  in  the  wild  affray,  dealing  his  well-aimed  blows 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  145 

right  and  left,  until  ho  received  a  minic-ball  in  his  side. 
The  next  moment  horse  and  rider  liiy  bleeding  on  the 
earth. 

*  *  *  *  ^  ^  :(; 

We  will  now  go  back  and  follow  Major  Hardee  through 
this  memorable  battle.  Sometime  in  the  afternoon  Col. 
Hastings  received  orders  to  charge  a  Federal  battery  in 
their  front.  This  command  was  nobly  executed.  The 
regiment  moved  forward,  ascended  the  rising  ground 
through  a  hail  storm  of  shot  and  shell,  and  was  soon  in 
possession  of  the  enemy's  guns. 

A  minute  had  scarcely  elapsed  when  they  were  opened 
upon  from  a  neighboring  eminence,  and  every  experienced 
eye  saw  that  their  present  position  was  untenable.  They 
soon  afterwards  received  orders  to  drive  the  enemy  from  this 
jDOsition  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  Col.  Hastings  calmly 
remarked,  as  he  surveyed  the  hill  bristling  with  bayonets, 
''  We  can  try,  but  it  will  be  our  last  battle."  His  words 
proved  prophetical,  for  as  he  led  his  brave  followers  towards 
the  foe,  he  was  struck  by  a  shell,  and  instantly  expired. 

The  command  now  devolved  upon  Major  Hardee,  who, 
seeing  the  men  waver,  threw  himself  at  the  head  of  the 
column,  which  then  moved  forward  through  a  terrific  fire 
to  the  cannon's  mouth,  and  in  a  few  moments,  they  were 
again  victorious. 

They  were  not  properly  sustained  in  this  new  position 
and  the  Federals  made  a  sudden  movement,  which  cut  them 
off  entirely  from  their  own  arm}^  A  few  minutes  after- 
wards a  strong  force  of  the  enemy  advanced  to  drive  them 
from  the  heights  they  had  so  valiantly  won,  when  a  dread- 
ful fight  ensued.  A  mere  handful  of  Confederates,  de- 
prived of  all  succor,  and  left  entirely  to  their  own  resources, 
instead  of  surrendering,  as  might  have  been  expected, 
turned  on  their  numerous  assailants  every  gun  they  could 
man,  and  poured  into  their  dense  ranks  a  murderous  fire. 
As  the  Federals  advanced,  they  worked  each  instrument 
7 


146  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

of  death  with  redoubled  energy.  Every  commissioned 
officer  except  Graham  Hardee  had  been  killed,  and  more 
than  half  of  their  number  had  been  slain,  yet  they  still 
grappled  with  the  foe,  and  held  in  bold  defiance  this  blood- 
stained eminence,  whose  summit  was  wreathed  in  sulphur- 
ous smoke  and  flame. 

Again  and  again  had  the  Federals  been  led  to  the  charge 
and  compelled  to  retreat.  The  carnage  was  dreadful  — 
the  hill  side  was  covered  with  dead,  and  slippery  with 
human  gore.  One  more  effort  was  now  made  by  the  discom- 
fited enemy,  and  this  time  it  proved  successful.  Major 
Hardee  fell  bleeding  on  a  promiscuous  heap  of  the  dead 
and  dying  friends  and  foes. 

A  half  hour  afterwards  the  Yankees  were  compelled  to 
evacuate  this  position,  which  had  cost  them  so  many  val- 
uable lives,  and  to  join  their  flying  hosts,  then  retreating 
to  their  entrenchments  at  Chattanooga. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  147 


CHAPTEE   XIX. 

Prison  Life  at  Johnson's  Island. 

When  Major  Hardee  had  partially  recovered  from  the 
swoon  occasioned  by  the  loss  of  blood,  he  found  himself  a 
prisoner  in  the  hands  of  the  enemy.  He  had  already  been 
carried  to  the  rear,  and  two  field  surgeons  had  just  com- 
pleted the  examination  of  his  wounds  after  having  appro- 
priated to  themselves  his  watch  and  other  valuables.  The 
first  words  which  fell  upon  his  ears,  proceeded  from  the 
principal  surgeon,  a  coarse,  brutal  and  unfeeling  wretch, 
who  said  : 

"  A  devilish  bad  case,"  which  declaration  he  enforced 
with  a  profane  oath. 

"Perhaps  he  can  be  saved,"  said  the  assistant  surgeon. 

"  What's  the  use  ?  "  exclaimed  the  first  speaker,  to  which 
he  appended  another  oath. 

"  To  test  our  skill,"  replied  the  assistant. 

"Let  him  die,  it  Avill  save  hemp  at  the  end  of  the  war," 
replied  the  unfeeling  wretch. 

"  I  don't  care  what  becomes  of  the  Jlebel  cuss,"  contin- 
ued the  assistant,  "  but  I  am  going  to  tr}'-  my  hand  at  lift- 
ing that  artery." 

"  Go  to  work,  there  is  not  a  moment  to  spare,"  replied 
the  first  surgeon. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  assistant,  drawing  up  a  case  of  sur- 
gical instruments. 

"  Wait  until  he  is  dead,  when  the  operation  will  be  more 
easily  performed,"  continued  the  first. 


148  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

The  assistant  surgeon  now  began  the  operation,  and 
soon  succeeded  in  securing  the  bleeding  artery.  He  only, 
had  time  to  mutter  a  commendation  of  his  own  skill,  when 
the  hair-brained  Marvel  Puffaway,  now  ranking  as  a  Lieu- 
tenant, came  running  as  if  he  had  been  pursued  by  a  thous- 
and demons,  and  wildly  exclaimed  : 

"  Drive  on  the  ambulances  —  drive  for  your  lives  —  our 
men  are  retreating  —  the  Eebs  are  coming." 

A  few  wounded  Confederates,  including  Graham  Hardee, 
were  unceremoniously  tossed  into  the  wagons. 

"Be  quick,"  cried  Lieutenant  Puffaway,  "or  we  are 
gone  suckers ;  "  the  next  moment  he  lifted  his  eyes  and 
perceived  the  advancing  Confederates. 

"  Ugh  !  "  he  groaned,  with  chattering  teeth.  '-'  Oh, 
heavens,  there  they  come — whip — -drive  off  like  light- 
ning " —  all  of  which  exclamations  were  interspersed  with 
numerous  oaths. 

The  Lieutenant,  accompanied  by  the  blustering  surgeon, 
now  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  off  like  Jehu,  towards 
Chattanooga,  followed  by  the  whole  train  of  ambulances. 
It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark,  and  they  had  not  proceed- 
ed far,  until  they  met  a  small  band  of  Confederates,  who 
had  made  their  escape  from  that  ill-fated  exjDedition  to 
burn  the  bridge.  They  were  covered  with  dust  and  blood, 
and  only  intent  on  reaching  the  Southern  lines. 

Patrick  Megram,  who  was  the  acknowledged  leader  of 
this  company,  rode  in  front  and  was  compelled  to  halt,  as 
the  road  was  completely  blocked  with  ambulances.  The 
next  moment  he  saw  Lieutenant  Puffaway  spring  from 
his  horse  and  attempt  to  escape  on  foot. 

"  Halt !  you  cowardly  thafe,"  said  Pat,  presenting  his 
pistol. 

"Don't  shoot — I  surrender,"  cried  the  trembling  offi- 
cer. 

Patrick  Megram  now  ordered  the  ambulances  which 
blocked  the  way  to  be  removed,  and  then  turned  to  Lieu- 
tenant Puffaway  and  said  — 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  149 

"  Hand  over  your  weapons." 

He  obeyed  with  trembling  hands,  and  the  Irishman  then 
continued  — 

"  Mount  that  horse  a^ain." 

The  Lieutenant  stood  trembling,  apparently  so  much 
frightened  that  he  could  not  move. 

''Mount  that  horse  instantly,  you  cowardly  Yankee 
fumbler,  and  don't  stand  there  shaking  like  you  had  a  fit 
of  ao-ue." 

The  road  now  being  clear,  the  Confederates  proceeded 
on,  and  soon  reached  the  main  army.  They  left  the 
ambulances  to  pursue  their  way  to  Chattanooga,  hut  car^ 
ried  with  them  Lieutenant  Puifaway ;  thus  giving  him  an. 
opportunity  of  testing  the  accommodations  Of  a  Southern 
prison. 

Major  Hardee  was  taken  to  Chattanooga  and  placed  in 
a  hospital,  in  the  charge  of  a  man  who  did  not  care 
whether  he  lived  or  died.  There  he  lay  for  many  weeks, 
apparently  near  unto  death,  suffering  for  the  want  of  pro- 
per nursing,  suitable  food  and  medical  attention,  and 
this  would  probably  have  been  the  end  of  his  career;  but 
one  day  an  army  contractor  came  into  the  hospital  —  who 
proved  to  be  an  old  school-mate.  He  instantly  recognized 
the  sufferer,  told  him  that  he  then  resided  in  Cincinnati, 
that  he  was  wealthy,  and  would  see  that  he  lacked  for 
nothing.  A  little  money  had  the  desired  effect,  and  Gra- 
ham now  began  to  rajDidly  improve. 

Some  weeks  afterwards,  this  friend  obtained  leave  to 
take  Graham  to  his  residence  in  Cincinnati,  by  becoming 
responsible  for  his  appearance  at  a  Northern  prison,  as 
soon  as  he  should  regain  his  health.  They  immediately 
left  Chattanooga,  and  a  few  days  afterwards  reached  the 
Queen  City  of  the  West. 

Major  Hardee  was  received  at  the  house  of  his  friend 
with  marked  kindness,  yet  he  was  far  from  being  happy. 
He  could  not  be  contented  when  an  invading  army  was 


150  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

desolating  his  native  land ;  when  his  services  were  so 
much  needed  at  home,  and  when  a  long  and  dreary  impris- 
onment seemed  inevitable.  He  felt  that  he  was  in  the 
midst  of  bitter  foes,  and  even  the  air  he  breathed  appeared 
to  be  laden  with  hatred  to  the  cause  he  adored.  When  he 
mingled  with  his  fellow  men,  he  heard  the  Southern  peo- 
ple abused;  when  he  walked  the  streets  he  was  compelled 
to  listen  to  taunts  and  jeers,  and  when  he  took  up  a 
newspaper  to  read,  it  was  fall  of  vile  misrepresentations. 

Graham  soon  learned  that  freedom  was  but  a  name  in 
the  so-called  loyal  States  ;  that  the  people  were  continu- 
ally watched  by  prying  detectives ;  that  many  had  been 
arrested  without  cause ;  that  the  ]^orthern  bastiles  were 
then  crowded  with  innocent  victims  who  had  never  even 
had  the  form  of  a  trial;  that  every  constitutional  right 
was  openly,  notoriously  and  flagrantly  violated ;  and  that 
the  reign  of  military  despotism  was  complete.  The 
thoughtless  populace  had  stood  blindly  shrieking  Union, 
whilst  robbed  of  their  liberty,  and  then,  like  cringing  slaves, 
were  hugging  their  chains  and  laboring  to  forge  additional 
fetters  for  their  brethren  in  the  South. 

The  fourth  of  July  arrived  —  the  last  day  he  was  des- 
tined to  remain  in  the  Queen  City ;  a  day  when  every 
one  was  expected  to  drink  lager  beer  and  various  subtle 
poisons,  in  honor  of  a  revolutionized  Union  —  a  day  when 
boys  are  permitted  to  burn  fire  crackers  and  discharge  spit 
devils^  to  the  great  annoyance  of  all  citizens  ;  a  day  when 
young  men  would  become  tipsy,  and  old  men  as  merry  as 
French  dancing  masters  —  a  day  devoted  to  carousing 
and  bacchanalian  revels.  The  streets  were  lined  with 
United  States  flags.  Young  America  crowded  the  thor- 
oughfares, and  throngs  of  excited  urchins  dragged  after 
them  the  once  glorious  ensign  of  our  Eepublic,  then  per- 
verted into  an  emblem  of  oppression.  The  city  sports 
supported  the  true  blue,  and  even  gay  belles  demonstrated 
that   they  were  trooly  loil,  by  disj^laying  costly   bonnet 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  151 

ribbons.  Military  companies  extravagantly  dressed,  para- 
ded the  streets,  and  young  Abolition  orators  spouted  fire, 
and  proved,  to  their  own  satisfaction,  that  the  framers  of 
the  declaration  of  rights  had  stultified  themselves  in  the 
eyes  of  the  world,  by  declaring  the  bondsmen  their 
equals. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  glorious  day  —  glorious  for  the  boys, 
who  were  about  to  make  a  bonfire  of  the  whole  city  ; 
glorious  for  orators  who  could  thus  prove  their  loyalty 
without  facing  the  enemy ;  glorious  for  the  light-headed, 
intoxicated  gentry,  and  glorious  for  the  keepers  of  rum 
shops,  whose  drinking  dens  were  known  in  this  patriotic 
city  as  fashionable  saloons. 

The  proceedings  of  this  day  reminded  Graham  of  Nero, 
dancing  whilst  Rome  was  in  flames.  He  was  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  this  pageantry  of  military  despotism,  and 
his  heart  sickened  at  the  thought  of  such  madness  and 
folly.  A  Rebel  could  not  be  endured  in  their  midst  after 
these  wild  orgies,  and  on  that  afternoon,  he  received  orders 
to  report  immediately  to  the  authorities. 

Two  days  afterwards  he  was  landed  at  Johnson's  Island, 
and  crossed  that  fatal  dead  line  into  the  prison  den,  where 
thousands  of  brave  men  were  then  languishing,  and  endur- 
ing more  than  words  can  ever  portray  to  the  human 
mind. 

The  Confederates  were  often  unable  to  support  their  own 
famishing  armies,  and  consequently,  the  captured  could 
not  always  be  properly  fed ;  but  the  Federals  had  no  ex- 
cuse for  maltreating  prisoners.  They  boasted  that  they 
possessed  a  superior  civilization ;  they  were  growing  rich  by 
waging  an  inhuman  war;  they  had  a  superabundance  of 
all  the  necessaries  of  life,  yet  thousands  suffered  for  food 
whilst  held  in  duress.  The  Government  refused  to  ex- 
change with  the  Confederate  States,  and  is  alone  res^^onsi- 
ble  for  the  miseries  endured. 

Major  Hardee  suffered  much  during  his  long  term  of 


152  THE    SUNNY   LAND) 

imprisonment.  Tlie  iDhospitable  climate  and  constant 
confinement  seriously  affected  his  health,  and  he  became 
low  spirited,  dejected,  and  was  often  ready  to  desj^air. 

One  day  he  received  a  letter  from  a  friend  residing  in 
Nashville,  which  informed  him  that  Jennie  Wilson,  his 
affianced,  was  in  feeble  health;  that  Edward  Ashton  was 
supposed  to  be  dead,  and  that  the  Confederates  could  not 
much  longer  sustain  the  unequal  conflict. 

"  How  long,  O  Lord  !  "  he  said,  reverentially,  "  must  we 
endure  this  cruel  imprisonment.  Oh  !  that  we  were  free  to 
strike  one  blow  for  our  bleeding  country." 

''  Oh  source  of  mercy,  soothe  our  pains, 
And  break,  0  break  the  cruel  chains." 

He  stood  in  silence  a  few  moments,  reflecting  on  the  suffer- 
ings of  his  countrymen,  and  the  valuable  lives  that  had 
been  sacrificed  for  what  he  feared  would  prove  a  lost 
cause,  and  then  continued,  mournfully  : 

"The  hour,  the  glorious  hour  will  come 
That  consecrates  the  patriot's  tomb." 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  153 


CHAPTEE   XX. 

Pennie  Raymond  Visits  the  Seat  of  Wak. 

When  Edward  Ashton  first  returned  to  consciousness, 
he  was  alone  with  a  large  number  of  grinning  corpses  of 
those  that  had  been  slain  in  battle,  whose  ghastly  features 
were  only  partially  revealed  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 
He  was  suffering  from  a  number  of  wounds,  the  severest 
of  which  was  a  contusion  on  his  head,  and  endurino-  a 
burning  thirst;  but  he  crawled  up  and  managed  to  reach  a 
canteen  of  water  on  the  body  of  a  fallen  Yankee,  which 
he  immediately  drained  of  its  contents.  After  restino-  a 
few  minutes,  he  succeeded  in  rising  to  his  feet,  and  stag- 
gered off  without  any  knowledge  as  to  the  present  posi- 
tion of  the  two  armies. 

Everything  was  now  calm,  and  a  death-like  stillness 
reigned  over  the  battle-field,  where  thousands  had  recently 
mingled  in  a  fierce  conflict.  All  was  silent  as  the  grave, 
and  a  few  short  hours  had  served  to  convert  it  into  a  vast 
charnel  house,  where  multitudes  were  sleeping  their  last 
long  sleep — resting  where  rude  wars  would  no  more  dis- 
turb their  repose.  They  were  but  so  many  victims  of  fa- 
naticism, murdered  in  the  wicked  attempt  to  enforce  the 
tyrannical  doctrine  of  coercion. 

When  Edward  Ashton  had  proceeded  a  short  distance 
a  voice  suddenly  broke  the  stillness  of  the  night.     The 
light  of  the  moon  enabled  him  to  see  the  dim  outlines  of 
a  Federal  picket,  and  the  click  of  a  gun-lock  admonished 
him  that  he  could  not  retreat. 
7* 


154  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

"  Who  are  you?  "  demanded  the  picket. 

"  A  friend  that  has  lost  his  way,"  said  Edward,  in  a 
feeble  tone. 

"  An  infernal  Eeb.,  I  suppose." 

"  Where  am  I  ?  "  asked  Edward. 

"  In  the  woods ;  and  you  now  can  consider  yourself  a 
prisoner." 

Edward  was  compelled  to  surrender,  and  was  taken  back 
to  Chattanooga,  where  he  was  guarded  for  the  remainder  of 
that  night  and  a  considerable  portion  of  the  succeeding 
day,  during  which  time  he  suffered  exceedingly  from  his 
undressed  wounds.  He  was  finally  sent  across  the  river, 
where  he  fortunately  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  humane  sur- 
geon, who  gave  him  the  attention  he  so  much  needed. 

His  wounds  j^roved  far  more  serious  than  he  had  antici- 
pated. Symptoms  of  typhoid  succeeded,  and  he  gradually 
became  worse,  until  it  was  believed  that  he  could  not  pos- 
sibly recover. 

One  day  a  number  of  visitors  entered  the  hospital,  and 
Edward  observed  amongst  them  the  well-known  face  of 
the  Rev.  Obadiah  Stanton,  who  was  then  conversing  with 
a  wounded  officer.  A  fashionably  dressed  lady  next  at- 
tracted his  attention,  and  he  muttered  half  aloud,  "  Pen- 
nie  Eaymond  —  impossible  —  my  eyes  must  deceive  me." 
The  next  moment  he  heard  her  speak  to  the  principal 
sargeon,  and  mentally  exclaimed:  "I  will  never  forget 
that  sweet,  but  deceptive  voice."  Only  a  few  seconds  had 
elapsed,  when  her  eyes  fell  on  Edward's  pale  and  haggard 
face.  She  seemed  suddenly  shocked  at  the  unexpected 
sight,  and  the  color  arose  on  her  cheeks  as  she  advanced 
with  a  hesitating  step. 

''Edward,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  melting  tone. 

He  extended  his  hand,  which  she  pressed  to  her  lips, 
and  then  kissed  his  feverish  brow. 

"You  are  wounded,"  she  said,  tenderly,  and  then  turned 
away  to  an  attendant  in  order  to  learn  his  true  condition . 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  155 

A  few  moments  afterwards  she  returned  to  his  bedside, 
wearing  a  grave  face,  and  said  : 

"  It  is  so  fortunate  I  came  to  this  hospital.  I  will  now 
see  that  you  are  carefully  nursed." 

Before  Edward  had  time  to  reply,  the  Eev.  Obadiah 
Stanton  came  up,  recognized  the  suiferer,  and  said  — 

"  You  are  wounded,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes."  he  replied,  "  and  I  also  have  an  attack  of  the 
fever." 

'•  The  way  of  the  transgressor  is  hard,"  said  the  Parson, 
abruptly. 

Edward  made  no  rej^ly,  and  Pcnnie  Raymond  remarked 
that  the  physician  had  forbidden  the  patient  to  talk,  hop- 
ing thereby  to  prevent  an  ill-timed  and  useless  lecture. 

"  You  are  now  enduring  the  righteous  judgments  of 
Heaven,  for  rebelling  against  the  constituted  authorities," 
continued  the  Parson. 

"  I  have  only  done  my  duty,"  said  Edward. 

'•'  I  advise  you  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance." 

"  Never,"  he  rej)lied,  '^  as  long  as  we  have  an  army  in 
the  field  and  a  foe  to  fight." 

"  Eash  young  man,"  exclaimed  the  Parson,  with  pious 
horror,  "  unless  you  repent  you  will  be  overtaken  with 
God's  fiercest  judgments."  He  proceeded  to  deliver  a  long 
Union  lecture  on  Bible  phraseology,  mingled  with  threats 
of  Divine  vengeance.  Edward  being  weak,  nervous,  and 
racked  with  pain,  became  much  excited,  and  felt  exceed- 
ingly grateful  when  Pennie  Raymond  interrupted  the  dis- 
course, promised  to  return  again  on  the  following  day,  and 
led  the  obnoxious  visitor  out  of  the  ho8j)ital. 

Edward  continued  to  grow  worse  for  many  successive 
days.  He  was  gradually  sinking  under  a  slow  tyj^hoid 
fever,  which  defied  all  remedies.  During  this  critical 
period  Pennie  was  unremitting  in  her  attentions,  and  saw 
that  he  lacked  for  nothing.  She  would  sometimes  sit  at 
his  couch  for  hours,  observing  his  symptoms,  and  cooling 


156  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 

his  parched  lips  with  refreshing  beverages.  lie  finally 
became  deranged,  and  for  a  long  time,  seemed  to  be  hover- 
ing on  the  verge  of  the  grave. 

One  afternoon  she  sat  at  his  bedside,  wearing  an  unusual- 
ly sad  countenance.  A  silent  tear  trickled  down  her  fair 
cheek,  a  shadow  rested  on  her  lovely  brow,  and  sorrow 
marked  every  lineament  of  her  beautiful  face.  Edward 
nioaned,  and  began  to  mutter  incoherently,  and  then  she 
heard  him  breathe  the  name  of  Lena  Eston.  Her  whole 
appearance  instantly  changed,  and  with  a  contracted 
brow,  she  vowed  that  the  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains  "  should 
never  bless  that  young  man  with  her  love. 

He  finally  passed  the  crisis,  and  began  to  recover.  He 
had  improved  considerably,  when  one  day  he  observed  a 
strange  lady  enter  the  hospital  and  slowly  walk  through 
the  apartment,  apparently  scanning  the  faces  of  the  suf- 
ferers. She  was  about  twenty  years  of  age,  near  the  ordi- 
nary height  of  her  sex,  and  possessed  regular  features, 
dark  auburn  hair,  a  high  forehead,  and  an  attractive  coun- 
tenance. Edward  recognized  her  familiar  face,  notwith- 
standing her  disguised  appearance,  and  was  about  to  pro- 
nounce her  name,  when  she  placed  her  finger  on  her 
mouth,  as  a  signal  that  he  should  remain  silent. 

Miss  Annie  Linton  was  well  known  to  Edward,  as  a  firm 
adherent  to  the  Southern  cause.  She  was  able  to  cope 
with  the  Yankees  in  shrewdness,  had  voluntarily  taken 
upon  herself  the  part  of  a  spy,  and  had  managed  to  con- 
vey much  important  intelligence  into  the  Southern  lines. 

She  sat  down  near  Edward,  made  some  common-place 
remarks,  until  she  saw  that  they  were  alone.  "  I  have 
been  in  Chattanooga  some  days,"  she  said,  "  and  having 
learned  all  I  desire,  I  expect  to  pass  the  pickets  to-night, 
and  proceed  to  Knoxville.  I  will  only  remain  there  a 
short  time,  and  then  cross  over  the  mountains  into  the 
Southern  lines." 

•'  You  may  be  captured,"  said  Edward. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  157 

"  True,'"  she  replied,  "but  this  would  not  detain  the  in- 
formalion  I  possess.  Patrick  Megram  follows  my  foot- 
steps, ready  to  convey  everything  I  have  gleaned  to  the 
Southern  commanders." 

'•  You  will  soon  be  at  Chola  ?  " 

"Yes,  if  I  escape  the  Yankees;  and  I  will  let  your 
friends  know  that  you  still  live."  Then,  after  a  moment, 
she  added,  as  she  arose  to  her  feet,  "  I  must  not  talk  to 
yoLi  any  more,  lest  I  should  attract  the  aLteniion  of  some 
suspicious  Federal." 

As  she  turned  to  leave  Edward,  she  met  Pennie  Eay- 
mond.  They  looked  at  each  other  with  evident  curiosity, 
and  then  passed,  without  uttering  a  word.  Annie  walked 
across  the  apartment,  halted  and  spoke  toa  wounded  Con. 
federate.  She  looked  back,  saw  the  " Belle  of  Two  Cities " 
smooth  back  Edward's  hair,  feel  his  pulse,  and  then  take 
a  seat  at  the  bedside.  She  then  walked  out  of  the  hospi- 
tal, somewhat  puzzled  with  this  beautiful  creature  who 
appeared  to  be  so  attentive  to  a  Confederate  prisoner. 


158  THE  SUNNY  land; 


CHAPTEE   XXI. 

A  Secret  Alliance. 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Captain  Pike  was  wounded 
in  the  beginning  of  the  war,  and  returned  to  Ohio  with  an 
ugly  scar  on  his  face,  completely  disgusted  with  the  mili- 
tary service.  He  remained  at  home,  nursing  his  wrath, 
until  he  learned  that  East  Tennessee  would  soon  be  in- 
vaded. He  then  set  out  to  visit  Knoxville  in  disguise,  fell 
in  the  hands  of  Edward  Ashton,  but  made  his  escape. 
Sometime  afterwards  he  reached  his  destination,  conferred 
with  the  leading  Union  men,  and  informed  them  that  the 
Federal  army  would  soon  cross  the  mountain. 

He  finally  learned  that  Edward  Ashton  was  then  at 
Montvale,  basking  in  the  sunshine  of  Lena's  smiles,  and 
hastened  to  that  point,  at  the  risk*  of  being  recognized, 
determined  to  secretly  destroy  his  rival,  but  he  did  not' 
find  the  desired  parties.  He  then  returned  to  Knoxville, 
cursino;  his  ill  luck,  and  concluded  to  remain  there  until 
the  startling  event  which  he  anticipated,  would  occur. 

After  a  few  false  rumors,  the  expected  Federals  crossed 
the  mountains,  and  advanced  towards  Knoxville.  There 
was  no  adequate  force  in  that  region  to  meet  the  invaders, 
and  all  East  Tennessee  was  hastily  evacuated.  Thus  fell 
into  the  hands  of  the  enemy,  almost  without  a  blow,  the 
great  granary  of  the  South.  This  masterly  stroke  sever- 
ed one  of  the  principal  arteries  which  nourished  the  army 
at  Eichmond,  and  effectually  paralyzed  all  the  succeeding 
movements  of  the  Confederates. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  159 

Captain  Pike,  with  the  full  consent  of  the  military  au- 
thorities, induced  the  Union  men  of  that  region  to  organ- 
ize independent  companies,  known  as  Home  Guards,  and 
had  them  supplied  with  government  arms,  by  which  means 
a  perfect  reign  of  terror  was  inaugurated  throughout  East 
Tennessee. 

A  long  and  dreary  period  of  darkness  now  succeeded, 
during  which  the  most  revolting  deeds  were  perpetrated 
in  the  name  of  the  Union.  The  excesses  which  followed, 
and  the  foul  atrocities  perpetrated  against  peaceable  and 
unoffending  citizens,  must  forever  remain  a  blot,  a  stig- 
ma, on  the  name  of  our  country. 

Hiram  Pike  loved  money  much  more  than  he  did  his 
native  land,  and  like  "  Butler  the  Beast,"  had  a  natural 
propensity  for  precious  metal,  silver  spoons,  forks,  and 
other  valuables.  He  then  began  his  operations  against 
peaceable  citizens,  and  by  using  armed  independent  com- 
panies, succeeded  in  accumulating  a  large  amount  of  ill- 
gotten  gains;  but  his  pillaging  was  suddenly  interrupted 
by  the  advance  of  General  Longstreet,  who  boldly  led  his 
veterans  against  superior  forces,  drove  the  unskilled  Burn- 
side  behind  his  intrenchments  at  Knoxville,  and  kept  up 
a  regular  siege  of  that  place  until  Gen.  Sherman  came 
plundering  along  the  great  valley  of  East  Tennessee,  and 
forced  the  Confederates  to  retreat. 

Soon  after  this  period,  the  military  authorities,  disgust- 
ed at  the  inhuman  proceedings  of  the  Home  Guards,  deter- 
mined to  suppress  all  lawless  organizations,  and  Captain 
Pike  suddenly  found  himself  without  employment.  Such 
was  his  condition,  when  one  day  he  met  the  Eev.  Obadiah 
Stanton  in  Knoxville. 

"How  are  you,  my  friend?"  said  the  Parson,  extend- 
ing his  hand. 

"  In  excellent  health,"  replied  Captain  Pike. 

"  We  have  been  successful, "  continued  the  Parson, 
chuckling  with  delight. 


160  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 

^'  We  have  coDquered  this  region,"  said  Hiram,  gleefully. 

"  "We  have  triumphed  gloriously,"  added  the  Parson, 
with  his  usual  grin. 

"  The  work  is  not  complete,"  said  Hiram. 

"  No,"  returned  the  Parson,  "  our  military  authorities 
are  far  too  lenient.  The  Southern  people  must  be  impov- 
erished and  driven  from  their  homes.  The  few  Union 
citizens  and  colored  j)eople  must  now  govern  this  country. 
"What  the  army  leaves  undone  must  be  completed  by  Con- 
gress." 

"  Do  you  projDOse  remaining  here  ? "  asked  Captain 
Pike. 

"IsTot  permanently.  I  came  through  with  a  view  of 
purchasing  some  lands.  I  was  accompanied  by  six  ladies, 
who  wished  to  engage  in  teaching  the  colored  people,  all  of 
whom  remained  in  West  Tennessee,  and  we  were  joined 
by  another  at  Cincinnati,  who  is  now  at  the  Bell  House. 
I  think  she  is  your  acquaintance,  for  she  expressed  a  de- 
sire to  see  you  immediately." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Pennie  Eaymond." 

"  What !    Is  she  here  as  a  teacher  ?    Impossible  !  " 

"  It  is  even  so." 

Hiram  proceeded  to  the  Bell  House,  still  inclined  to 
doubt  the  truth  of  the  Parson's  words,  sent  u])  his  card, 
and  sat  down  to  await  the  result.  A  few  minutes  only 
had  elapsed  when  the  "  Belle  of  Two  Cities "  entered, 
v/earing  a  captivating  smile,  spoke  to  him  affectionately, 
and  then  began  conversing  as  if  they  ever  had  been  friends. 
He  was  astonished,  delighted,  and  utterly  unable  to  fathom 
her  secret  design.     Finally  he  ventured  to  say : 

"  The  Eev.  Stanton  informed  me  that  you  think  of 
teaching  the  freedmen." 

"  The  old  idiot,"  she  exclaimed,  it  will  be  late  when  I 
turn  school  marm,'^  she  continued,  with  pouting  lips.  "  I 
will  leave  that  delicious  employment  for  jSTew  England 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  161 

spinsters.  All  the  truth  there  is  in  it,"  she  added,  "is,  that 
I  had  to  play  off  on  him  in  order  to  reach  Knoxville." 

"  Will  3^011  turn  spy  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Would  I  not  make  a  good  detective  ?  " 

"  I  doubt  it.  But  this  reminds  me  of  a  female  spy  re- 
cently arrested  in  this  city,  whom  I  visited  this  morning, 
in  order  to  learn  how  much  she  would  pay  to  be  released. 
She  is  young,  good  looking,  shrewd  and  intelligent,  hates 
a  Yankee  and  loves  a  Eebel." 

'•'  Will  she  be  hung  ?  "  asked  Pennie. 

"  No.     It  would  be  a  disgrace  to  hang  a  woman," 

"So  it  would,"  replied  Pennie,  "but  disgraceful  af- 
fairs are  fashionable."     Then,  after  a  moment,  she  added: 

"  AVhat  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  Annie  Linton." 

"  Could  I  see  her  ?  "  said  Pennie,  in  a  careless  tone. 

"  Certainly.  She  is  at  a  private  house,  and  I  will  ob- 
tain a  permit,  if  you  wish  to  pay  her  a  visit." 

Pennie  remained  silent  a  few  seconds,  and  then  said, 
abruptly : 

''  You  love  Lena  Eston." 

"  Lena  Eston?"  repeated  Hiram  Pike,  with  a  heightened 
color. 

"  You  need  not  deny  it." 

"  You  love  Edward  Ash  ton,"  retorted  Hiram. 

"Now  for  a  truce,"  she  continued.  "  I  propose  an  alli- 
ance on  the  basis  of  mutual  assistance." 

"  How  could  we  aid  each  other?  "  he  asked. 

"  Easily." 

"  Not  at  present." 

"  You  are  dull." 

"Perhaps  I  am." 

"  Edward  Ashton  is  a  prisoner,  and  sick." 

"  Lena  Eston  is  beyond  our  lines." 

"  She  might  be  induced  to  visit  East  Tennessee." 

"  How  ?  "  he  asked,  with  increasing  interest. 


162  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

"  I  will  explain  to-morrow,"  she  said,  as  she  rose  to  her 
feet,  thus  intimating  that  the  interview  was  over,  for  the 
present,  and  that  he  must  await  the  appointed  time. 

^  ^  4:  ^  :):  4:  ^ 

An  hour  afterwards,  Annie  Linton  might  have  been 
seen  in  her  own  guarded  room  on  the  second  floor,  leaning 
out  of  a  window  which  overlooked  one  of  the  principal 
thoroughfares  in  Knoxville,  apparently  gazing  at  the  citi- 
zens as  they  passed  and  repassed.  Finally  she  let  fall  an 
apple,  and  watched  it  until  she  saw  it  gathered  up  by  a 
man  dressed  as  an  everyday  laborer.  She  smiled,  and 
said  to  herself,  '-'No  Yankee  will  ever  see  the  crumpled 
piece  of  paper  inside  of  that  apple  ;  it  is  safe  in  the 
hands  of  Pat  Megram,"  and  then  turned  away  from  the 
window  as  a  lady  entered,  whom  she  knew  to  be  the  same 
she  had  met  in  the  hospital  at  Chatianooga. 

"  Miss  Linton,  I  presume."  she  said.  ''  My  name  is  Pen- 
nie  Eaymond." 

Annie  invited  her  visitor  to  be  seated  without  betraying 
the  curiosity  she  felt,  and  then  remained  silent. 

"  1  think  I  met  you  at  Chattanooga  a  few  weeks  ago," 
continued  Pennie. 

"You  think  so,"  said  Annie,  evasively,  who  suspicioned 
that  her  visitor  had  been  sent  there  to  entrap  her  in  some 
way. 

"  I  remember  your  face,"  added  Pennie. 

"  What  did  you  wish  to  see  me  concerning?"  said  Annie, 
much  too  shrewd  to  be  led  into  an  open  confession,  and 
unwilling  to  be  catechised  by  a  stranger. 

"  You  are  held  as  a  spy  ?  " 

"  I  am." 

"  My  sympathies  are  with  the  Confederates,  and  I  have 
called  on  you  for  information.  I  wish  to  visit  the  South 
on  business  not  connected  with  the  war.  Can  I  reach 
Ashville,  :N"orth  Carolina?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  the  Confederates  will  prevent  it,  if  you 
will  travel  by  way  of  the  Warm  Springs." 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  163 

"  I  believe  you  arc  a  friend  of  Edward  Ashton,"  said 
Pennie,  "  and  for  this  reason  I  will  state  my  object  in  vis- 
iting the  South.  He  is  now  sick  ;  will  probably  never  re- 
cover, and  is  anxious  to  see  a  Miss  Lena  Eston  before  he 
dies.  I  promised  him  that,  if  possible,  I  would  send  a  let- 
ter through  the  lines,  informing  her  of  his  condition,  and 
asking  her  to  visit  Chattanooga  without  delay.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  convey  the  desired  information,  and  have 
concluded  to  go  in  person.  Now  I  hope  you  will  favor 
me  with  a  note  of  introduction  to  that  lady." 

Annie  Linton  was  not  yet  satisfied  that  all  was  right, 
and  Pennie  was  finally  compelled  to  leave  without  having 
obtained  the  desired  instrament  of  writing.  Sbe  did  not 
give  up  her  purpose,  and,  aided  by  Captain  Pike,  she  found 
other  means  for  its  accomplishment. 


164  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 


CHAPTEE   XXII. 

Ax  ExEMv  IN  Disguise. 

The  Spring  of  1864  opened  on  vast  armies,  yet  grap- 
pling for  the  mastery.  General  Lee,  with  a  greatiy  di- 
minished but  veteran  force,  still  bid  defiance  to  the  im- 
mense hosts  marshalled  around  Eichmond.  and  stood  firm 
as  a  rock  in  mid  ocean,  against  which  the  waves  of  centu- 
ries have  dashed  in  vain.  A  fierce  contest  was  then  be- 
ing waged  along  the  entire  Southern  coast,  where  heroes 
were  manfully  struggling  in  defense  of  their  homes,  their 
firesides,  of  all  they  held  sacred  and  dear;  mounted 
men  fearlessly  dashed  through  the  enemy's  lines,  and 
plunged  recklessly  into  the  midst  of  a  powerful  foe,  dealing 
death  and  destruction  to  the  invaders  of  their  soil.  But, 
notwithstanding  this  heroic  resistance,  the  Confederate 
cause  was  fast  sinking  under  a  tremendous  pressure.  The 
whole  South  was  desolated  with  fire  and  sword,  and  was 
bleeding  at  every  pore.  Yirginia,  the  Mother  of  States 
and  Statesmen,  had  been  swept  with  the  ploughshare  of 
destruction,  and  could  not  much  longer  maintain  the  un- 
equal strife.  Tennessee,  the  proud  volunteer  State,  the 
home  of  Jackson,  lay  helpless  at  the  conqueror's  feet,  ruled 
by  despotic  military  satraps.  This  was  indeed  a  dark  hour 
for  the  Sunny  South.  The  luminary  of  liberty  seemed  to 
be  setting  in  darkness,  when  a  long  and  gloomy  night 
might  be  expected.  A  glorious  Government  of  consent, 
was  about  to  be  subverted  ;  and  coercion,  force,  and  oppres- 
sion, visited  on  a  subjugated  people. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  165 

It  was  early  in  the  spring,  when  nature  first  lays  aside 
the  drajDery  of  mourning,  and  begins  to  assume  the  hues 
of  summer;  when  the  air  was  pleasant,  the  buds  expand- 
ing, and  the  forests  assuming  a  lively  green,  that  we 
would  again  visit  the  home  of  the  "  Belle  of  the  Moun- 
tains." She  sat  in  the  piazza,  holding  in  her  hand  a  deli- 
cateflower,  a  fit  emblem  of  all  earthly  pleasures:  alike  frail, 
uncertain,  and  destined  soon  to  pass  away;  and  near  her 
was  Yenie  Ardin,  now  somewhat  changed  by  the  cares  of 
life. 

"  There  was  a  soft  and  pensive  grace, 
A  cast  of  thought  upon  her  face, 
That  suited  well  her  forehead  high  ; 
The  united  expression  spoke  a  mind 
In  duty  firm,  composed   resigned." 

Mi\  Eston  had  set  oat  on  a  visit  to  his  plantations  in 
South  Carolina,  leaving  Mrs.  Duree  and  the  two  cousins 
alone  at  "Chola." 

"I  wish  Annie  Linton  would  write  again,"  said  Lena, 
"  so  that  we  might  hear  something  more  definite,  in  re- 
gard to  our  friends." 

"I  fcar  Edward  and  Graham  are  both  dead,"  Venie  re- 
plied, and  after  a  moment  added,  with  a  sorrowful  face: 

"I  am  anxious  to  see  another  letter,  yet  I  dread  to  hear 
again.     It  may  bring  sad  intelligence." 

"  I  trust  all  will  be  well,"  said  Lena,  hopefully. 

"  It  is  foolish,  I  know,  to  mourn  for  Graham,"  said  Yenie. 
"  Even  if  alive,  he  is  nothino-  to  me." 

"  He  loves  you,"  said  Lena. 

"  The  blonde !  the  blonde !  "  exclaimed  Yenie,  as  she  re- 
called the  words  of  the  mountain  sibyl. 

"Eemember  what  Edward  told  me  at  Montvale.  He 
said  that  Graham  loved  you,  and  that,  at  some  future  day, 
you  would  be  happy." 

"  I  must  not  think  of  these  things,"  said  Yenie,  as  she 
wiped  away  an  unbidden  tear.  "I  must  endeavor  to  be 
patient,  and  await  the  revelations  of  the  future." 


166  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

They  were  both  silent  a  few  minutes,  when  Yenie  arose 
and  said: 

"  I  must  visit  Mrs.  Curley ;  she  was  very  sick  on  yes- 
terday." 

"I  will  remain  at  home/'  replied  Lena;  "as  some  one 
may  call,  this  bright  afternoon." 

"  If  I  should  not  return  before  dark,  you  need  not  be 
uneasy,"  said  Yenie,  "  as  Mr.  Curley  will  accompany  me 
home." 

When  her  cousin  had  departed,  Lena  remained  alone, 
busy  with  her  own  reflections.  She  knew  that  Mrs.  Duree 
was  within,  but  she  had  never  loved  that  cold,  calculating 
woman,  and  could  not  enjoy  her  company.  She  continued 
in  the  same  place,  until  it  began  to  grow  dark ;  then  arose 
and  wandered  through  the  dwelling,  Avithout  seeing  the 
housekeeper;  and  finally  returned  to  the  piazza,  hoping 
that  her  cousin  would  soon  return. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  light  footstep  approaching,  and 
supposed  that  it  was  Yenie,  but,  after  waiting  impatiently 
for  some  time,  she  began  to  be  alarmed.  Again  she  heard 
the  rustling  of  a  dress,  listened  a  few  moments,  then 
turned  away,  trembling,  and  walked  into  the  library,  where 
a  lamp  was  shedding  its  dim  rays  around  the  room. 

She  stood  at  a  table,  looking  over  some  photographs, 
endeavoring  to  become  calm,  when  she  again  heard  a  rust- 
ling sound.  A  cold  shudder  ran  through  her  frame,  and 
she  turned,  to  see  if  she  could  discover  the  cause,  but  she 
was  all  alone.  She  now  made  an  eftort  to  shake  off  her 
fears,  and  began  to  chide  herself  for  indulging  in  what  she 
considered  an  idle  fancy,  but  she  suddenly  became  impress- 
ed with  the  idea  that  some  one  was  present.  She  imag- 
ined that  two  eyes,  possessing  a  strong  magnetic  power, 
were  fixed  upon  her,  from  the  door  leading  into  the  hall, 
and  so  vivid  did  these  appear,  that  she  hastily  turned 
around,  and,  to  her  great  astonishment,  beheld  a  lady 
dressed  in  black,  tall  and  well  proportioned,  who  advanced 
and  said  : 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  167 

^'  I  wish  to  see  Miss  Eston." 

Lena,  trembliog  with  fear,  replied  that  she  was  the 
person  sought,  and  the  beautiful  woman  in  black,  con- 
tinued : 

"  Are  we  alone  ?  I  have  something  to  relate,  private 
and  confidential." 

"You  can  proceed,"  replied  Lena,  much  excited. 
<'  My  name  is  Pennie  Eaymond,"  said  tbe  visitor,  as  she 
threw  herself  into  a  chair,  and  assumed  a  most  graceful 
attitude.  She  then  fixed  her  eyes  on  the  "Belle  of  the 
Mountains,"  who  was  yet  trembling  with  vague  and  un- 
defined fears. 

"  I  have  made  a  long  journey,  in  order  to  have  this  in- 
terview ;  and  as  I  came  through  the  lines,  and  might  be 
arrested,  1  do  not  wish  to  meet  with  any  other  person." 

Lena  did  not  know  that  her  visitor  had  already  man- 
aged to  hold  a  conference  with  Mrs.  Duree,  to  whom  she 
had  brought  a  long  letter  from  Captain  Pike,  and  now 
partially  reassured,  asked  : 

"  Why  did  you  wish  to  see  me." 
"  You  are  acquainted  with  Miss  Annie  Linton  ?  " 
"  Very  well,"  replied  Lena. 

"  She  is  now  under  arrest,  and  detained  at  Knoxville,  as 
a  spy." 
"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  it." 

"  She  is  probably  in  no  danger,  as  it  would  require  per- 
fect barbarians  to  hang  a  woman." 

"  The  Yankees  can  produce  such  men,"  said  Lena. 
"  I  have  a  note  addressed  to  you,"  continued  Pennie, 
"from  Miss  Linton,  which  will  explain  the  object  of  my 
visit.  It  has  been  written  with  a  pencil,"  she  continued, 
as  she  unfolded  a  small,  crumpled  piece  of  paper,  "  and  is 
scarcely  legible." 

Lena  eagerly  seized  this  note,  purporting  to  be  from  her 
friend,  which  was  only  a  forgery,  devised  by  Pennie  Eay- 
mond, held  it  up  near  a  lamp,  and  read  : 


168  THE  SUNNY  land; 

''Edward  Ashton  is  sick,  and  supposed  to  be  at  the 
point  of  death.  He  may  possibly  live  some  days,  but  he 
is  not  expected  to  recover.  I  saw  him,  myself,  a  few  .da3'S 
ago,  but  I  am  now  in  custody,  and  cannot  visit  him  again. 
He  is  at  a  private  residence,  and  you  can  reach  him  by 
following  the  Tennessee  River  road  to  Chilhowce.  My 
friend.  Miss  Eaymond,  will  deliver  this  note,  and  give  you 
all  necessary  information. 

'*  Annie  Linton." 

Lena  became  excessively  pale,  as  she  perused  this  short 
epistle,  and  then  sank  back  into  a  chair,  overcome  by  the 
most  painful  emoiions.  Pennie  remained  silent,  until  her 
first  outburst  of  grief  was  over,  and  then  said  : 

"  There  are  no  Federal  soldiers  in  Cbilhowee.  but  should 
you  accidentally  meet  with  them,  I  have  provided  for  your 
safety." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Lena. 

"  Here  is  a  passport  I  obtained  at  Knoxvillc,  which  w^ll 
afford  you  ample  protection." 

"  My  father  is  absent,  and  I  will  have  no  one  to  accom- 
pany me,"  replied  Lena,  as  she  received  the  passport. 

"  You  can  obtain  a  driver  for  a  family  carriage,  and  find 
some  aged  lady  who  will  go  as  a  companion." 

"I  must  visit  him,  at  every  risk,"  said  Lena. 

"  Here  is  another  paper,  containing  full  directions,  so 
you  can  find  Mr.  Ashton,  as  soon  as  j^ou  arrive  in  Chilho- 
wee." 

They  were  both  silent  a  few  seconds,  when  Lena  con- 
tinued : 

^'  How  did  you  reach  here  ?  " 

"  I  came  over  the  mountains,  on  horseback,  and  must 
set  out  to  return  immediately.  It  is  a  long  journey,  but 
Edward  is  my  friend." 

"  You  know  him  ?  " 

"  We  met  lono;  asfo." 

"You  are  from  Cincinnati,"  said  Lena;  "Do  you  know 
Hiram  Pike  ?  " 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  169 

"  I  remember  a  family  of  that  name.  Iliram  —  no,  I 
suppose  I  never  met  with  that  person." 

"  The  Pikes  I  know  would  not  do  much  fighting,'^  she 
said,  at  the  same  time  rising  to  her  feet ;  and  then  added : 

"  I  must  set  out  for  Knoxville,  without  delay." 

Lena  now  insisted  that  her  visitor  should  remain  until 
morning,  but  she  declared  that  she  must  travel  all  night, 
and  reach  the  mountains  before  daylight. 

"  I  will  set  out  for  Tennessee,  early  in  the  morning,"  said 
Lena,  sadly. 

"  I  wish  you  a  prosperous  journey,'^  replied  Pennie. 

"  Should  I  ever  have  an  opportunity,  I  will  be  happy  to 
repay  your  kindness,^'  said  Lena. 

Pennie  now  turned  back  and,  Judas  like,  imprinted  a 
kiss  on  Lena's  sorrowful  face.  She  then  left  the  deceived 
and  weeping  "  Belle  of  the  Mountains,"  sad,  mournful,  and 
longing  to  fly  to  Edward,  and  save  him,  if  possible,  from 
the  jaws  of  death,  or,  if  beyond  recovery,  that  she  might 
console  him  in  the  hour  of  deej)  tribulation. 

"  In  this  world,  the  fondest  and  the  best 

Are  most  tried,  most  troubled  and  distressed." 


8 


170  THE    SUNNY  LAND  ; 


CHAPTEK  XXIII. 

Lena  Captured. 

It  was  on  a  bright  May  day,  when  a  family  carriage 
might  have  been  seen  slowly  ascending  the  Smoky  Moun- 
tain, from  the  North  Carolina  side  of  that  vast  range. 
The  horses  were  slowly  toiling  up  the  rugged  and  almost 
impassable  road,  under  a  warm  sunshine,  and  showed  evi- 
dent signs  of  weariness. 

Finally  they  reached  the  summit  of  these  vast  hills, 
near  the  point  where  the  Tennessee  river  bursts  through 
the  mountains,  and  then  sweeps  on  down  for  many  miles 
over  eternal  beds  of  granite,  until  lost  in  the  rich  valleys 
beyond  this  range.  The  carriage  halted  in  a  refreshing 
shade.  The  driver  sprang  down  from  his  seat,  and  Mrs. 
Duree  alighted,  followed  by  the  '-'Belle  of  the  Mountains," 
who  seemed  unusually  sad,  weary  and  dejected. 

They  all  sat  down  at  a  small  fountain  at  the  roadside, 
and  partook  of  a  slight  repast.  Mrs.  Duree  talked  inces- 
santly, but  Lena  remained  quiet  and  thoughtful,  evidently 
not  inclined  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 

A  yet  higher  part  of  the  mountain  arose  above  them, 
and  Lena,  desiring  to  be  alone,  and  observing  that  it 
would  afford  a  fine  view  of  the  surrounding  country,  be- 
gan to  ascend  it,  and  soon  reached  the  loftiest  summit. 

Here  a  magnificent  scenery  burst  on  her  enraptured 
vision,  and  for  a  few  moments,  the  sorrowful  expression 
passed  away  from  her  countenance.  Around  her  lay  an 
unbroken  bed  of  mountains.     Here  and  there  arose  loftv 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  171 

peaks,  recently  clothed  in  white  mantles  of  snow,  tower- 
ing one  above  another,  presenting  a  grand,  sublime  and 
imposing  spectacle,  and  nearer  aj^peared  the  smooth  sur- 
face of  the  bleak  "  Bald  Mountain,"  without  a  particle  of 
vegetation,  which  seemed  to  pierce  the  heavens,  whilst  afar 
off  she  could  see  the  white  top  of  ''  Thunder  Head,"  glit- 
tering in  the  golden  rays  of  a  noon-day  sun. 

Lena  stood  for  some  time  gazing  on  these  gorgeous 
mountain  peaks,  and  her  thoughts  gradually  arose  from 
the  grandeur  of  the  surrounding  scenery  to  the  Great 
Creator,  who  spake  everything  into  existence,  and  these 
sublime  words  flashed  through  her  mind :  "Which  removeth 
the  mountains  and  overturneth  them  in  his  anger :  shaketh 
the  earth,  and  maketh  the  pillars  thereof  to  tremble." 
Again  her  eyes  rested  on  some  distant  hills,  where  nature 
assumed  the  wildest  and  most  fantastic  forms,  when  her 
thoughts  again  arose  to  the  Almighty — "  Who  walketh 
through  the  circuit  of  the  heavens;  who  thundereth 
marvellously  with  His  voice;  who  doeth  great  things; 
which  commandeth  the  sun  and  it  riseth  not,  and  sealeth 
up  the  stars ;  which  alone  spreadeth  out  the  heavens  and 
treadeth  upon  the  waves  of  the  sea;  which  maketh  Arctu- 
rus,  Orion  and  Pleaides,  and  the  chambers  of  the  South." 

Now  her  mind  passed  from  the  contemplation  of  these 
eternal  solitudes  of  nature  and  nature's  God,  and  she  fixed 
her  eyes  on  the  far  off  valley  of  East  Tennessee,  where 
one  she  held  exceedingly  dear  was  believed  to  be  near 
unto  death,  to  whom  she  was  hastening,  perhaps,  to  bid 
him  adieu  forever  —  perhaps  to  kiss  his  pale  brow  for  the 
last  time,  and,  perhaps,  to  take  the  final  long,  lingering 
look  at  his  lifeless  remains.  As  she  thought  of  these  sad 
things,  a  total  change  came  over  her  face,  a  few  moments 
before  radiant  with  the  deep  inspiration,  drawn  from  the 
matchless  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  the  neighboring 
scenery,  and  she  began  to  retrace  her  steps  down  the 
mountain  brow  with  dreary  forebodings  of  comino-  evil. 


172  THE   SUNNY    LAND; 

As  she  thought  hoTv  lonely  and  desolate  she  would  be, 
should  her  worst  fears  be  realized,  she  suddenly  recalled 
the  following  lines  : 

"  No  eye  to  mingle  sorrow's  tear, 
No  lips  to  mingle  sorrow's  breath, 
No  tongue  to  call  me  kind  and  dear." 

This  small  party  again  continued  their  journey,  desiring 
tu  leach  the  first  East  Tennessee  settlements  on  the  river, 
known  as  Chilhowee,  before  they  should  be  overtaken  by 
night. 

Lena  was  occupied  with  her  own  sad  reflections,  and 
Mrs.  Duree  was  so  engrossed  with  the  part  she  had  prom- 
ised to  act,  that  she  was  not  disposed  to  talk.  She  was 
now  lashed  by  a  guilty  conscience,  and  half  inclined  to  con- 
fess every  thing,  and  to  warn  that  innocent  girl  of  her 
danger,  but  these  feelings  were  soon  succeeded  by  a  firm 
resolve  to  remain  faithful  to  Hiram  Pike. 

They  finally  came  to  a  small  log  cabin  which  stood  in 
an  isolated  spot,  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains.  They 
halted  for  a  few  minutes,  to  quench  their  thirst  at  a  small 
fountain,  bubbling  forth  at  the  side  of  the  road.  A  man, 
whom  they  had  before  observed,  now  came  forward  to 
meet  them,  bearing  a  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  and  followed 
by  a  couple  of  fierce  looking  grey  hounds. 

This  individual  was  a  singular  sj^ecimen  of  humanity. 
He  was  an  able-bodied  individual,  dressed  in  home  made 
linsey,  much  rent  and  patched.  He  wore  long,  untrimmed 
whiskers,  and  a  rude  coon-skin  cap  covered  his  head.  He 
was  barefooted,  and  instead  of  a  coat,  he  had  on  a  coarse 
hunting-shirt,  peculiar  to  this  mountainous  region. 

He  advanced  near  the  carriage,  surveyed  each  of  the 
travellers  in  rotation,  and  then  said,  in  a  voice  which 
sounded  harsh : 

"  How-dye  do." 

His  salutation  was  politely  returned,  after  which  he  said 
to  the  driver  — 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  173 

"  Got  any  of  the  weed  ?  " 

"I  have,"  he  replied,  handing  him  a  i^iece  of  tobacco. 

"  Eegiilar  old  Virginia,"  he  said,  and  then  continued : 
"  Are  you  gwine  to  the  flat  woods  ?  " 

"  To  Tennessee,"  rephed  Mrs.  Durec. 

"  I  guess  you  are  thar  now,"  he  said,  with  a  grin,  and 
then  added :  "  It's  a  hard  place  down  on  tother  side  of  the 
mountains;  I  just  got  home  from  thar.  *Dick  Snyder' 
don't  care  if  he  never  gets  thar  again." 

"  Is  there  any  fighting  there  at  present?  "  asked  Lena. 

"Dick  Snyder"  j)laced  the  breach  of  his  gun  on  the 
ground,  and  lifting  one  of  his  bare  feet  to  the  hub  of  the 
carriage-wheel,  replied  : 

"  Fighting  like  a  couple  of  cats  hung  up  by  their  tails. 
I  never  seed  the  like  in  all  my  born  days.  A  white  man 
can't  live  thar  at  all.  I  can't  understand  this  no  how,  and 
can't  see  what  it's  all  about.  I  don't  know  nothing  of 
that  chap  they  call  Limkum,  and  don't  care  nuther. 
George  Washington  fit  for  his  country,  but  I  don't  see  as 
how  it's  worth  fighting  for  any  more." 

"  Will  we  meet  any  Yankee  soldiers  on  the  road  ?  "  in- 
quired Lena. 

"I  can't  say,"  he  replied,  "for  they  are  as  thick  as 
huckleberries,  a  stealing,  fightin'  and  cussin'  all  over  the 
country,  and  I  don't  know  what  it's  all  for.  They  can't 
shoot  much,  nuther.  They  ought  to  see  me  let  this  old 
blade/'  referring  to  his  gun,  "loose  amongst  the  wild  var- 
mints." 

The  party  bid  the  eccentric  mountaineer  farewell,  and 
continued  on  their  lonely  journey  through  these  eternal 
solitudes  of  nature.  The  roads  were  almost  impassable, 
and  it  began  to  grow  dark  before  they  had  reached  the  Chil- 
howee  settlements. 

They  suddenly  encountered  six  mounted  men,  dressed 
in  blue  coats,  completely  armed,  led  by  a  dashing  Lieuten- 
ant, wearing  a  gay  uniform,  decorated  with  a  profusion 


174  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

of  gold  lace.  It  was  the  besotted  Campbell  Fukey,  who 
had  reached  the  seat  of  war  in  connection  with  the  com- 
missaiy  department,  but  who  now  occupied  a  less  danger- 
ous, and  more  independent  position. 

Lena  became  much  excited  at  the  appearance  of  these 
armed  Federals,  but  Mrs.  Duree  remained  as  calm  and 
composed,  as  if  she  had  recognized  in  them  some  of  her 
best  friends.  The  driver  waited  a  moment,  expecting 
that  they  would  pass,  but  instead  of  that,  they  drew  up 
around  the  carriage,  and  Lieutenant  Fukey  ordered  all 
parties  to  halt,  and  then  said,  abruptly : 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  North  Carolina,"  returned  Mrs.  Duree,  in  a  calm  tone, 
whilst  Lena  sat  at  her  side,  trembling  with  fear. 

"  Your  name." 

"Adaline  Duree,"  she  answered;  and  then  continued, 
pointing  to  her  companion:  '^this  is  Miss  Lena  Eston." 

Mrs.  Duree  now  handed  the  Federal  officer  the  passport 
which  Miss  Eaymond  had  given  to  Lena.  He  perused  it 
carelessly,  and  then  said,  with  a  commanding  gesture  : 

"  You  can  consider  yourselves  under  arrest." 

"  Is  that  passport  not  good  ?  "  asked  Lena,  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice. 

"  Certainly,  it  is  good,"  he  replied,  with  an  oath. 

"  Why  are  we  arrested  ?  '* 

''  Such  are  my  orders,"  he  answered  crustily. 

"  From  whom?  "  she  continued. 

"  That  is  my  business,"  he  said,  savagely,  with  a  fierce 
oath,  and  then  muttered  a  general  curse  on  all  Eebels. 

Lena  now  implored  him  to  let  them  proceed  on  their 
way  without  interruption;  but  he  cut  her  short,  with 
another  bitter  invective,  and  ordered  the  driver  to  pro- 
ceed. 

"  To  what  place  do  you  intend  to  take  us  ?  "  persisted 
Lena. 

"  There  is  no  end  to  woman's  tongue,"  he  exclaimed 


A    STORY    OP   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  175 

angrily,  and  then  muttered  a  half  expressed  curse  on  all 
women. 

They  had  proceeded  some  distance,  when  the  partially 
intoxicated  Lieutenant  rode  up  to  the  carriage,  and  said  to 
Mrs.  Duree: 

*'  You  know  Captain  Pike." 

Lena  was  startled  at  the  mention  of  this  name,  and  she 
instantly  suspicioned  that  he  had  caused  their  arrest,  but 
she  remained  silent,  and  Mrs.  Duree  replied : 

"  I  have  met  with  the  Captain." 

"A  devilish  good  fellow,  I  would  say,"  and  then  he  con- 
tinued :   "  a  perfect  prince  —  a  scourge  to  all  Eebels." 

Mrs.  Duree  was  somewhat  confused,  and  feared  that  the 
indiscreet  officer  would  expose  the  whole  plot.  After  a 
moment,  she  said  : 

"  He  has  been  recently  at  Knoxville." 

"He  has  been,  but  he  is.  not  there  at  present,"  he  re- 
plied, in  a  significant  tone. 

They  now  began  to  descend  towards  the  Tennessee  riv- 
er, and  soon  reached  the  Chilhowee  settlements.  The 
guarded  prisoners  could  see  by  the  moonlight,  a  neat  farm- 
liouse  at  the  road  side,  but  they  were  not  permitted  to 
halt  at  this  place,  and  moved  on  rapidly  in  the  same  direc- 
tion they  had  been  travelling. 

Some  time  afterwards  Lena  discovered  that  the  carriage 
had  suddenly  changed  its  course,  and  that  they  were  pur- 
suing a  rough  road,  along  a  deep  defile,  overshadowed  by 
lofty  hills.  She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  her  fearful 
condition.  She  knew  that  she  was  utterly  powerless  ia 
the  hands  of  these  villainous-looking  men  that  surrounded 
the  vehicle,  and  in  her  helj^lessness,  prayed  for  the  assist- 
ance of  one  that  never  slumbers. 

Finally  the  carriage  halted  in  front  of  a  low,  double-log 
house,  and  a  moment  afterwards,  the  stillness  of  the  night 
was  broken  by  the  gruff  voice  of  Lieutenant  Fukey. 

"  Miss  Eston  will  alight,"  he  said,  impatiently. 


176  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

She  sprang  down  from  the  carriage,  supposing  Mrs.  Du- 
ree  would  follow. 

The  next  moment  the  Lieutenant  continued,  addressing 
his  men  : 

"  Take  the  prisoner  into  that  house,  place  her  in  the 
care  of  the  old  crone,  and  guard  the  door  until  I  return. 
Let  no  one  go  in  or  come  out,  at  your  peril." 

He  then  ordered  the  driver  to  proceed  in  a  certain  direc- 
tion with  Mrs.  Duree ;  and  when  the  carriage  had  moved 
on,  he  followed  alone,  in  the  rear. 

Lena  was  in  the  midst  of  these  rude  soldiers.  She  gazed 
at  their  grim  faces,  half  revealed  by  the  moon-beams,  and 
felt  that  they  were  all  hardened  wretches,  who  would  not 
even  pity  her  in  her  deep  distress.  She  remained  motion- 
less, in  speechless  horror,  until  a  coarse,  unfeeling  voice 
fell  on  her  ears,  commanding  her  to  enter  the  miserable 
hovel.  She  mechanically  obeyed,  with  feelings  that  may 
be  more  easily  imagined  than  described. 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  177 


CHAPTEE    XXIY. 

The  Raid  into  Chilhowee. 

As  soon  as  Pennie  Eaymond  had  returned  to  Knoxville 
and  reported  to  Hiram  Pike  the  probable  success  of  her 
mission  into  JS'orth  Carolina,  he  set  out  to  Chilhowee,  ac- 
companied by  the  Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton,  who,  on  account 
of  his  clerical  profession,  was  not  let  into  the  full  secret  of 
the  plot.  He  was  only  chosen  as  a  travelling  companion, 
because  his  services  might  be  needed  in  securing  an  unwil- 
ling bride.  By  the  way,  they  were  joined  by  fifteen  mount- 
ed men,  well  armed,  and  under  the  command  of  Lieuten- 
ant Fukey.  They  were  dressed  as  Federals,  but  in  reality 
belonged  to  an  independent  Union  company. 

By  making  a  rapid  movement,  they  reached  the  extreme 
limit  of  the  Chilhowee  settlements  about  sunset,  and  halted 
at  the  residence  of  Thomas  Harker,  a  substantial  farmer, 
supposed  to  be  loyal  to  all  Yankeedom. 

Hiram  Pike  having  learned  that  the  desired  parties  had 
not  reached  Chilhowee,  now  sent  forward  Lieutenant 
Fukey  with  six  men,  after  having  given  him  ample  in- 
structions how  to  proceed  in  the  event  he  met  with  the 
expected  travellers. 

He  then  alighted  with  the  remainder  of  his  men,  and 
peremptorily  ordered  Mrs  Harker  to  prepare  supper  with- 
out delay. 

The  whole  company  scattered  themselves  over  the  prem- 
ises, and  began  a  general  search  for  brandy,  corn  whiskey, 
and  certain  other  luxuries  they  hoped  to  find,  and  man- 
8* 


178  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

aged,  during  this  process,  to  pocket  a  number  of  small  val- 
uables. 

When  ^Ir.  Harker  returned  home,  he  found  that  he  was 
no  longer  master  of  his  own  premises.  Notwithstanding 
he  had  ever  been  exceedingly  loyal  to  the  Union,  his  mili- 
tary friends  appeared  determined  to  reduce  him  to  pover- 
ty. He  saw  that  the  last  of  his  oats,  corn  and  hay  had 
been  appropriated  by  his  protectors.  He  entered  his  kitch- 
en, and  there  were  two  cut-throats  commanding  his  wife  to 
hurry  up  supper.  He  passed  into  his  dining  room,  and 
discovered  three  more  quarrelling  over  a  jug  of  honey. 
He  went  to  the  parlor,  and  there  sat  Captain  Pike  in  an 
easy  chair,  with  a  bottle  of  brandy  at  his  side,  and  his 
feet  on  the  table. 

Mr.  Harker  knew  it  was  useless  to  remonstrate  with 
those  reckless  men,  and  was  well  aware  that  they  would 
as  soon  blow  out  his  brains  as  to  speak  a  pleasant  word. 
During  many  months  previous  to  their  arrival,  he  had 
longed  for  the  presence  of  the  blue  coats,  but  he  had  been 
surfeited  with  the  desired  good. 

He  advanced  towards  Captain  Pike,  who  remained  mo- 
tionless, and  was  greeted  with  a  command  delivered  in  a 
domineering  tone : 

"  Hurry  up  tea,  old  man,"  cried  Captain  Pike. 

The  former  saw  that  his  visitor  was  partially  intoxica- 
ted, and  replied,  in  a  pleasant  manner,  that  it  would  soon 
be  ready. 

"  The  devil  it  will,"  growled  Hiram,  as  he  emptied 
another  glass  of  brandy,  and  re^^laced  his  feet  upon  the 
table. 

"I  suppose,"  continued  the  farmer,  "you  are  after  Cap- 
tain Eler,  who  now  holds  Chilhowee  in  awe." 

"Captain  Eler,"  repeated  Hiram,  as  he  sprang  to  his 
feet,  and  then  added  :  "  where  is  Captain  Eler  ?  " 

"  He  was  here  to-day,  but  I  can't  say  where  he  is  at 
present." 


A   STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  179 

"  Captain  Eler  in  Chilhowee  ?  " 

''  He  was  three  hours  ago." 

"  What  part  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  passed  by  this  place." 

Hiram  Pike  was  utterly  confounded  at  this  intelligence, 
for  he  knew  that  he  commanded  a  brave  and  desperate  set 
of  men.  He  sat  down  again,  then  sprang  up  nervously. 
He  had  many  reasons  to  dread  this  daring  company  of 
Confederates,  which  he  was  pleased  to  style  guerillas,  but 
when  informed  what  direction  they  had  taken,  he  breathed 
much  easier,  and  contented  himself  with  sending  out  a 
scouting  party,  to  learn  if  any  armed  Confederates  were 
in  the  neighborhood. 

An  hour  afterwards.  Lieutenant  Fukey  came  into  the 
room,  and  seeing  that  Captain  Pike  was  alone,  he  said 
somewhat  boisterously : 

"  The  bird  is  caged." 

"  Good,"  replied  Hiram. 

The  Lieutenant  proceeded  to  give  an  account  of  the 
capture,  which  is  already  known  to  the  reader,  with  such 
variation  as  suited  his  purpose. 

"  How  did  she  take  it  ?  "  asked  Hiram. 

"Talked  like  a  queen." 

"  You  managed  to  quiet  her  ?  " 

"  With  a  few  oaths." 

"  ^ow  send  in  Mrs.  Puree;  I  must  talk  with  her  a  short 
time,  and  then  fly  to  my  weej^ing  darling." 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  Hiram  Pike  imagined  he 
heard  a  sound  in  the  dimly  lighted  hall  leading  into  that 
apartment.  He  went  to  the  door  and  listened,  but  he 
could  hear  nothing. 

When  Mrs.  Duree  came  in  he  received  her  affably,  and 
then  said: 

"  The  deed  is  done." 

"  Lena  is  now  at  Mrs.  Huball's,"  she  replied. 

Again  he  heard  a  strange  noise  at  the  opposite  side  of 


180  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

the  house.  He  arose  up,  nervously,  and  listened  a  few 
moments,  but  all  was  silent.  He  finally  sat  down,  but  a 
few  minutes  afterwards,  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  window,  and 
saw  two  glaring  eyes  that  made  his  blood  run  cold.  He 
sprang  to  his  feet,  trembling  with  fear,  and  drew  a  pistol, 
but  the  ghastly  face  instantly  disappeared. 

He  ordered  the  premises  to  be  searched,  but  no  ene- 
my was  found.  He  then  endeavored  to  quiet  his  nerves, 
and  began  to  grow  somewhat  composed  under  the  sound 
of  Mrs.  Duree's  voice,  when  they  were  startled  by  cries 
for  help,  proceeding  from  an  upper  chamber. 

A  few  moments  afterwards,  the  Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton 
burst  into  that  aj)artment,  followed  by  Lieutenant  Fukey 
and  others.  He  was  almost  naked,  evidently  much  fright- 
ened, and  in  an  agony  of  unutterable  distress. 

It  was  sometime  before  any  satisfactory  explanation 
could  be  obtained.  It  appeared  that  the  Parson,  desiring 
to  retire  early,  had  been  shown  an  upper  chamber,  and 
whilst  in  the  act  of  getting  into  bed,  some  ghostly  form, 
clad  in  the  habiliments  of  the  grave,  had  entered  the  room, 
and  acted  in  a  manner  much  unlike  a  ghost. 

The  Eev.  Obadiah  presented  a  most  outlandish  figure, 
as  he  stood  grinniug  before  them  in  his  night  clothes,  ut- 
terly unable  to  relate  what  had  occurred.  Mrs.  Duree  left 
the  room  upon  his  entrance,  with  a  shriek,  and  Captain 
Pike  involuntarily  placed  his  hand  on  his  pistol,  but  did 
not  deem  it  expedient  to  draw  it. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  the  Captain. 

The  Parson  clutched  the  fireboard  for  support,  grinned 
horribly,  looked  at  the  astonished  spectators  imploringly, 
and  then  pointed  at  Mr.  Harker. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  again  demanded  Hiram  Pike. 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know,"  said  the  farmer.  "  The  first 
thing  I  knew  of  it,  he  ran  over  my  poor  wife  on  the  stairs, 
and  was  screaming  murder,  as  if  all  of  Eler's  men  had  been 
in  pursuit." 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  181 

Tbo  Parson  still  pointed  at  the  luckless  farmer,  and 
finally  breathed  forth  from  his  pale  lips: 

"  Thou  art  the  man." 

"What?"  asked  the  farmer. 

"  You  did  it." 

"Did  what?" 

"Dashed  into  my  presence  like  a  disembodied  spirit, 
whispered  '  die,  old  fanatic,'  and  then  sprang  forward  and 
seized  my  throat." 

"Arrest  that  man  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Pike. 

"  I  have  done  nothing,"  said  the  farmer. 

"Hano;  him,"  muttered  the  Parson. 

"  Confess  this  moment,"  cried  the  Captain,  "or  Iwill  have 
your  brains  blown  out  without  delay." 

"  I  am  innocent,"  insisted  the  farmer. 

"  You  are  an  infernal  Eebel,  I  expect,"  said  Hiram  Pike. 

It  was  hard  for  Mr.  Harker,  who  had  ever  been  faithful 
to  the  Union  cause,  to  bear  all  this  from  Federal  soldiers, 
and,  as  a  last  resort,  succeeded  in  proving  an  alibi,  and 
was  dismissed  for  the  present. 

When  Captain  Pike  came  out  of  the  house  to  mount  his 
horse,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  Lena,  followed  by  Lieu- 
tenant Fukcy,  and  all  his  men,  the  figure  of  a  man  might 
have  been  seen  crouching  in  the  adjoining  undergrowth. 
The  same  pair  of  sparkling  eyes  that  had  before  appear- 
ed, now  watched  his  movements.  Every  word  he  spoke, 
and  every  order  he  issued,  was  caught  by  eager  ears,  and 
treasured  up  in  a  retentive  memory. 

JfC  5jC  5}s  5^<  JjC  3fC 

We  will  now  return  to  Lena,  whom  we  left  at  the  mercy 
of  a  set  of  unprincipled  men,  that  could  not  be  moved  by 
pity.  When  she  entered  the  house  that  was  to  serve  as 
her  temporary  prison,  a  pine  knot  was  blazing  on  the 
hearth,  casting  a  flickering  light  over  the  rude  furniture. 

Mrs.  II u ball  sat  enjoying  the  luxury  of  a  clay  pipe,  when 
her  visitor  entered.     She  appeared  to  be  about  seventy 


182  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 

years  of  age,  and  was  dressed  in  a  faded  gown,  much 
patched  and  torn.  Her  features  were  coarse,  her  face 
dark  and  wrinkled,  and  her  whole  appearance  indicated  a 
woman  that  could  not  be  trusted. 

As  Lena  advanced,  the  old  crone  blew  from  her  mouth 
a  long  stream  of  tobacco  smoke,  then  arose  to  her  feet  and 
pointed  to  a  chair.  She  stood  some  moments  in  silence, 
gazing  at  her  fair  visitor,  and  gradually  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion stole  over  her  dark  and  stolid  countenance,  and  then 
she  muttered  to  herself,  half  aloud : 

"I  don't  understand  it,  but  I  guess  it  be  for  the  Union." 
Lena  immediately  burst  into  tears,  and  implored  this  wo- 
man for  protection,  who  listened  until  the  weeping  girl  had 
ceased  sjDeaking,  then  walked  to  the  window,  and  repeated 
to  herself  the  words  of  Hiram  Pike :  "it  is  for  the  Union 
—  the  good  of  the  Union;"  after  which  she  turned  back 
to  Lena,  and  said,  in  a  softened  voice  : 

"  Don't  cry,  my  child ;  it  won't  do  a  bit  of  good." 
Mrs.  Huball  now  went  into  the  adjoining  log  cabin,  and 
the  moment  Lena  was  alone,  she  flew  to  the  door,  hoping 
that  she  would  be  able  to  make  her  escape ;  but  she  could 
see,  by  moonlight,  an  armed  guard,  ready  to  intercept  her 
flight.  She  then  returned  to  her  seat  nervously,  and  sat 
down  in  despair. 

Sometimes  she  would  pace  to  and  fro  across  the  room, 
bemoaning  her  unhappy  fate;  and  then  again  she  would 
throw  herself  in  a  chair,  and  indulge  in  a  fit  of  weeping. 
Thus  she  continued,  until  the  door  was  opened,  and  Hiram 
Pike  entered,  dressed  in  a  Federal  uniform.  He  advanced 
towards  Lena,  who  stood  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  room, 
ready  to  faint  with  terror. 

"I  am  happy  to  see  you,  Miss  Eston,"  he  said,  as  he 
made  a  formal  bow. 

She  remained  motionless,  and  gazed  wildly  at  his  face. 
She  did  not  move  a  muscle,  until  he  extended  his  hand 
towards  her,  when  she  shrank  back,  as  if  she  had  unex- 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  183 

pectedly  encountered  a  venomous  reptile,  and  then  ex- 
claimed, bitterly : 

"  Why  have  I  been  arrested  and  brought  to  this  place?'' 

"  Why  ?  "  he  repeated,  unwilling  to  answer  this  pointed 
question. 

"  What  does  it  mean?  "  she  continued,  vehemently. 

"Your  are  not  under  arrest,  my  darling." 

"  You  are  the  cause  of  all  this,"  she  said ;  and  then  add- 
ed;  "I  know  it  is  your  work." 

"  Perhai^s  it  is,"  he  replied,  sarcastically. 

"Oh!  G-od,  save  me  —  help  me  —  protect  me,"  burst 
from  her  pale  lips. 

"Be  seated,"  he  said;  and  then  added,  abruptly;  "Ex- 
cuse me,  dearest,  I  have  been  drinking  some  this  after- 
noon.    Now  set  down,  and  let  us  reason  together." 

"You  are  a  villain!"  she  exclaimed. 

"  I  love  to'  hear  even  that  from  your  sweet  lips,"  he  said, 
advancing  a  step  nearer  to  the  weeping  Lena. 

"  Oh,  Heaven,  save  me !  "  she  cried,  in  mournful  accents, 
and  instantly  sprang  towards  the  door;  but  Hiram  stepped 
before  her,  and  said,  in  an  exulting  tone : 

"  ISTo  !  no,  my  beauty,  you  cannot  leave  this  house  with- 
out my  consent ; "  and  then,  after  a  moment,  he  added  : 
"  you  might  as  well  be  quiet,  and  talk  reasonably. 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  awaited  an  answer ;  but  Lena 
made  no  reply,  and  he  continued  : 

"I  know  you  came  to  Tennessee  in  order  to  meet  your 
lover,  but  you  will  find  none  here  but  myself;  therefore 
you  must  accept  me  as  your  most  devoted  admirer." 

Lena  still  remained  silent,  and  seemed  to  be  considering 
some  dreadful  alternative.  Hiram  Pike  gazed  a  moment 
at  her  sorrow-stricken  face,  and  continued : 

"I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.  Your  charms  have  un- 
done me.  Now  consent  to  be  mine,  and  there  is  a  minister 
of  the  gospel  within  one  mile  of  this  place,  who  will  make 
us  husband  and  wife,  one  and  inseparable." 


184  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

Lena  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  with  her  arms 
folded  over  her  breast,  whilst  she  listened  to  this  proposal. 
When  he  had  concluded,  she  broke  forth  vehemently : 

"  Marry  you  ?  never  !  never ! !  never ! ! !  Sooner  would 
I  put  an  end  to  my  own  life  ;  sooner  die  a  thousand  deaths : 
sooner  sleep  in  the  cold  grave,  than  be  united  to  a  man 
I  despise." 

"■  You  will  rue  these  words,"  he  said,  angrily ;  and  then 
added,  in  a  voice  hoarse  with  passion:  "you  should  know 
me  better." 

"  I  scorn  and  defy  you,"  she  replied,  with  a  calmness 
that  astonished  her  implacable  enemy. 

Here  Hiram  Pike  advanced  towards  the  apparently 
helpless  Lena,  wearing  a  dark,  scowling  countenance,  when 
she  suddenly  exclaimed: 

"  Stand  back !  stand  back ! !  or  one  of  us  will  die." 

At  the  same  moment  he  saw  the  gleam  of  a  weapon  in 
her  hand,  and  knew,  by  the  outlines  of  her  pale  face,  that 
she  had  uttered  no  idle  threat. 

He  was  surprised  and  thunder-struck  at  this  unexpected 
defence,  and  stood  baffled,  considering  what  course  he 
would  pursue,  when  suddenly  a  number  of  guns  were  dis- 
charged, and  Lena  fell,  fainting  at  his  feet. 

He  instantly  rushed  to  the  door,  and  ran  against  Patrick 
Megram,  who  was  entering  at  that  moment.  The  dark- 
ness prevented  him  from  seeing  the  Irishman's  face,  but  he 
recognized  him  as  an  enemy.  They  grappled,  and  rolled 
together  down  the  high  steps,  and  were  effectually  separa- 
ted by  the  fall. 

Captain  Pike  sprang  up,  and  fled  for  his  life.  A  moment 
afterwards,  a  number  of  shots  were  fired,  one  of  which 
took  effect  in  his  side ;  but  he  dashed  on,  believing  that  if 
captured,  he  would  be  punished  with  a  death  he  so  richly 
merited. 

*  :f:  :Jt  *  *  ^ 

When  Lena  became  conscious,  a  shudder  passed  through 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  185 

her  frame,  at  the  recollection  of  the  horrors  of  that 
night.  She  opened  her  eyes  and  found  Edward  Ashton 
stooping  over  her,  wearing  an  anxious  face.  She  was  com- 
pletely bewildered,  iand  muttered : 

"Am  I  dreaming?" 

"No,  dearest,"  said  Edward;  "you  are  now  with  your 
friends." 

She  sprang  up,  gazed  around  the  room,  then  looked  up 
into  Edward's  face,  and  said,  in  a  sweet  and  melancholy 
tone: 

"  Edward,  you  have  saved  me." 

He  now  explained,  in  a  few  words,  how  he  had  escaped 
from  the  Federals  at  Chattanooga,  and  reached  Chilhowee 
on  his  way  across  the  mountains,  where  he  had  found 
some  of  Captain  Eler's  men,  and  went  with  them  to  their 
camp,  and  there  met  Patrick  Megram,  who  had  followed 
Captain  Pike  from  Knoxville,  and  watched  all  his  move- 
ments. 

Their  conversation  was  here  interrupted  by  an  uproar 
in  the  adjoining  log  cabin,  where  they  could  hear  mingled 
voices,  and  cries  of  "kill  him !  kill  the  murderer,  the  thief, 
the  cut-throat." 

Edward  hastily  entered  this  apartment,  where  he 
found  Hiram  Pike,  severely  wounded ;  and  sat  on  the  floor, 
surrounded  by  a  band  of  Captain  Eler's  men,  who  were 
swearing  that  they  would  dispatch  him  immediately. 

"  Do  not  kill  him !  "  cried  Edward. 

"  Spare  my  life,"  added  Hiram  Pike,  in  piteous  tones. 

"Justice! — I  demand  justice,"  said  a  soldier,  as  he 
drew  a  long  knife  from  his  belt. 

"  He  is  a  murderer !  "  exclaimed  another. 

"  A  villain  that  had  my  son  killed !  "  said  a  grey-haired 
soldier. 

"A  rope,"  cried  a  corporal ;  "  let  us  have  a  rope !  " 

"  A  rope  !  a  rope  ! !  "  repeated  a  half  dozen,  at  the  same 
moment. 


186  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

"  This  man,"  said  Edward,  pointing  at  the  crest-fallen 
Hiram  Pike,  "  has  been  my  bitterest  enemy.  I  know  he 
has  been  guilty  of  many  crimes,  but  he  is  now  our  prison- 
er, and  I  would  not  stain  my  hands  with  his  blood." 

"  He  must  die !  "  exclaimed  a  soldier,  fiercely. 

''  Hang  him  !  "  cried  another. 

''  Hang  the  villain  !  "  was  repeated  by  many  voices. 

Captain  Eler  now,  for  the  first  time,  interfered,  and 
commanded  silence ;  then  continued  : 

"  I  know  how  you  have  all  suffered,  many  of  you  have 
been  driven  from  your  homes  by  such  cowardly  miscre- 
ants as  the  prisoner,  but  we  all  profess  to  be  honorable 
soldiers.  ]S"ow  I  propose  that  the  young  lady  in  the  ad- 
joining room  decide  his  fate." 

Hiram  Pike  imagined  that  his  fate  was  sealed  beyond 
all  hope,  when  he  heard  the  soldiers'  assent  to  this  propo- 
sition, and  he  was  utterly  astonished  when  he  heard  her 
words : 

"Spare  his  life;  he  will  be  overtaken  by  justice  and 
punished  for  all  his  crimes."  She  was  far  above  revenge, 
and  could  forgive,  being 

"A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned  — 
To  warn,  to  comfort  and  command, 
And  a  spirit  still  and  bright, 
With  something  of  an  angel's  light." 

****** 
Edward  Ashton  had  sent  Patrick  Megram  to  the  resi- 
dence of  Mr.  Harker  with  a  few  soldiers,  thinking  some 
of  Captain  Pike's  men,  who  had  escaped,  would  fly  to  that 
place,  and  he  did  not  return  until  the  next  morning. 

"  Where  is  the  Eev.  Stanton  ?  "  asked  Edward,  as  Pat 
made  his  appearance. 

"  I  paroled  him,"  replied  the  Irishman,  with  a  comical 
expression,  "and  made  him  swear  not  to  preach  politics 
any  more.  He  objected  at  first,  but  I  just  tightetied  his 
white  cravat,  to  remind  him  of  the  way  I  gripped  his 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  187 

throat  last  night,  when  he  imagined  me  to  be  a  ghost. 
He  talked  about  his  conscience,  but  I  soon  convinced  him 
he  never  had  such  a  thing.  I  first  made  him  kiss  the  Bi- 
ble, and  clinched  it  with  the  higher  law.  I  then  put  him 
on  his  horse,  mounted  Mrs.  Duree  behind  him,  and  sent 
them  off  to  Knoxville,  riding  double." 

"  You  captured  no  other  men  ?  " 

"  We  overhauled  Lieutenant  Fukey.  Some  one  had  given 
him  a  slashing  stroke  with  a  sabre,  and  ruined  his  coun- 
tenance. I  was  afraid  to  take  him  into  the  house,  lest  he 
might  recognize  me  as  the  same  person  he  had  met  in 
KnoxVille,  and  lead  to  future  trouble.  I  examined  him  by 
moonlight,  made  him  swear  he  would  not  steal,  plunder, 
or  rob,  until  was  regularly  exchanged,  then  sent  him  on 
his  way  rejoicing." 

Edward  now  conversed  with  Patrick  Megram  in  a  low 
tone,  for  a  short  time,  after  which  the  faithful  Irishman 
parted  with  his  friends,  and  rode  off  in  the  direction  of 
Knoxville. 

A  half  hour  had  not  elapsed,  until  Edward  set  out  with 
Lena,  to  I^orth  Carolina,  and  about  sun-set,  they  reached 
the  first  settlements,  beyond  the  mountains.  Here  they 
remained  until  the  next  day,  when  he  bade  her  adieu,  leav- 
ing her  to  pursue  her  way  to  "  Chola,"  and  hastened  on  to 
join  the  Confederate  army,  then  struggling  against  over- 
whelming forces,  in  front  of  Atlanta. 


188  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 


CHAPTEE    XXY. 

The  Avenger  in  Pursuit. 

It  was  on  a  dull,  cloudy  day,  a  few  months  before  the 
close  of  the  war,  when  a  Federal  soldier,  bearing  the  rank 
of  a  corporal,  might  have  been  seen  slowly  walking  along 
one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  of  Knoxville.  He  was 
perhaps  forty  years  of  age,  about  the  ordinary  height, 
well  built,  and  possessed  sharp  features,  and  a  keen,  rest- 
less eye. 

He  suddenly  halted,  and  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  pave- 
ment, as  if  reflecting  what  he  would  do  to  while  away 
the  tedious  hours.  A  moment  afterwards  a  hand  was  laid 
on  his  shoulder  with  no  slight  grip,  and  on  turning  around, 
he  found  himself  confronted  a  by  tall,  ungainly  woman. 

"  What  might  be  your  name,"  she  said,  as  she  scanned 
his  features. 

He  looked  at  the  vagrant  from  head  to  foot,  and  replied 
in  a  sarcastic  tone  — 

"  It  might  be  Sodomon  Gomorrah  Holloway,"  and  then, 
after  a  moment,  added,  "  I  am  not  known  by  that  name." 

"  Don't  be  so  sharp,"  said  the  woman,  crustily,  "  I  guess 
Nell  Tucker  has  seen  as  much  as  you  be,  long  afore  this." 

"  You  are  called  Nell  Tucker,"  said  the  soldier,  with  a 
smile.  "I  am  extremely  happy  to  meet  you.  My  name 
is  Alvin  Croft ;  now  please  inform  me  who  is  Nell  Tuck- 
er?" 

"  So  I  thought  I'd  seed  you  afore,"  continued  the  wo- 
man. 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  189 

"  I  am  certain  I  never  had  a  peep  at  your  picture  until 
this  morning." 

"  I  guess  you  will  know  me  now,"  she  said,  sharply. 

"  One  would  not  be  likely  to  forget  your  martial  appear- 
aace,  and  I  take  you  to  be  a  reconstructed  rebel." 

"  You  don't  mind  me.  but  your  father  knew  me  so  well/' 

"  It  is  likely  he  did,"  replied  Alvin  Croft.  "  He  probably 
formed  the  acquaintance  of  many  persons  before  I  was  in 
a  condition  to  do  so." 

"  I've  seed  you  often,  as  well  as  him." 

"Where?"  he  asked,  as  he  again  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
puzzling  creature. 

"In  Kansas,"  she  replied;  "and  I  know  something 
about  your  father." 

"  What  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Something  that  you  would  like  to  hear  of  him  and 
your  poor  sister,  murdered  like  the  tother  one." 

"  Murdered,  you  say  ?  My  sister  murdered  !  "  exclaim- 
ed the  soldier,  and  at  the  same  time  his  whole  demeanor 
changed  to  one  of  anxious  inquiry. 

"  This  is  not  the  place  to  talk,"  continued  l^ell  Tucker. 

"  We  will  seek  another,"  he  said,  impatiently. 

Nell  Tucker  now  led  the  way,  and  they  proceeded  to  a 
drinking  saloon  in  a  retired  portion  of  the  city.  As  soon 
as  they  were  alone,  she  continued : 

"  You  know  Dan  Bowen,  that  villain  who  came  with  a 
band  of  men,  tuck  out  your  father,  and  killed  the  poor 
critter  because  he  didn't  vote  to  suit  'em  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  replied  the  soldier,  with  a  contracted  brow. 

"He  then  broke  jail,  and  your  sister  disappeared." 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  the  scoundrel  for  many  years. 
But  what  of  my  sister  ?  " 

"  That  man  Bowen  tuck  her  to  Louisville,  and  she 
thought  she  had  married  the  scamp,  but  arter  awhile  she 
found  out  the  hoax,  and  was  about  to  kick  up  a  rumpus, 
and  so  he  got  somebody  to  capsize  her  into"  the  river. 
Now  that 's  all  I  tell." 


190  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

"  Is  this  true  ?  "  he  asked,  in  an  excited  tone. 

"  True  as  gospel." 

"  The  evidence,"  he  said,  impatiently. 

"  You  can  git  it." 

"  How  ?  "  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  By  one  man  in  Knoxville  and  two  more  in  Ohio." 

''  Will  you  produce  this  evidence  ?  " 

"  On  the  right  terms.'* 

"  For  money  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  you  pay,  and  I  will  prove  all  I  say,  and  show 
you  Bowen,"  she  added,  in  a  whisper. 

"  I  will  give  one  thousand  dollars  to  see  that  incarnate 
fiend,"  exclaimed  Alvin  Croft,  fiercely. 

"  I  can  point  him  out  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,"  said. 
Nell  Tucker,  "  but  Bowen  ain't  his  right  name." 

"  What  is  he  now  called  ?  " 

"  Will  you  come  to  my  terms  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  will  do  it,"  said  the  soldier,  and  then  counted 
out  one  hundred  dollars. 

"  Now  take  this  money,"  he  continued,  "  and  when  you 
fulfil  your  promise,  you  shall  have  the  remainder." 

She  clutched  the  money  eagerly,  and  continued : 

"  His  name  is  Hiram  Pike." 

"  Is  it  possible !  I  know  the  wretch,"  cried  Alvin  Croft, 
as  he  sprang  to  his  feet,  "  I  never  suspicioned  that  he  was 
the  same ;  but  it  must  be  true,  for  I  remember  the  resem- 
blance." 

"  He  is  not  here,"  said  the  woman.  "  He  went  out  of 
the  city  on  some  devilment,  and  a  rebel  put  a  ball  into  his 
hide,  but  he  will  soon  be  here  again,  when  I  guess  you 
can  see  him." 

"  I  hope  he  will  return  before  I  have  to  leave  this  place," 
said  the  soldier,  in  an  anxious  tone.  '^  But  who  is  the  wit- 
ness ?  " 

"Patrick  Megram." 

"  Did  he  see  the  deed  done  ?  " 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  191 

"  He  knows  of  it." 

"Hearsay  evidence  won't  do." 

"  He  will  satisfy  your  mind." 

"  When  can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  If  I  can  find  him,  I  will  have  him  here  at  ten  o'clock 
to-night." 

"  Then  I  will  be  here  precisely  at  that  hour,"  he  said,  as 
he  arose  to  depart.  He  then  bowed  haughtily  to  the  wo- 
man and  walked  out,  considering  how  he  would  avenge  the 
wrong  perpetrated  upon  his  relatives. 

Nell  Tucker  had  arrived  at  Knoxville  a  few  days  pre- 
vious to  the  time  Hiram  Pike  set  out  for  Chilhowee,  and 
had  called  upon  him  for  the  money  due  according  to  their 
contract,  when  a  quarrel  ensued  in  regard  to  the  amount. 
Hiram  Pike  offered  her  one  hundred  dollars,  which  she 
received,  and  then  told  him  she  must  have  three  hundred 
more  within  one  week,  and  threatened  to  expose  every- 
thing in  the  event  the  money  was  not  ready  at  the  expi- 
ration of  that  period,  upon  which  he  became  exceedingly 
angry,  and  ordered  her  out  of  his  oflSce. 

She  remained  quiet  until  the  appointed  time,  when  she 
heard  that  he  had  been  wounded.  She  became  worried 
at  his  protracted  absence,  and  accidently  meeting  with 
Alvin  Croft,  as  described,  she  concluded  to  raise  the  money 
through  that  individual. 

Mrs.  Duree  was  now  at  Knoxville,  impatiently  awaiting 
the  return  of  Captain  Pike.  She  had  lost  a  good  home, 
failed  in  her  object,  and  was  in  every  way  a  most  unhap- 
py woman.  She  finally  opened  a  colored  school,  and 
easily  persuaded  Pennie  Raymond,  once  the  proud  and 
haughty  "Belle  of  Two  Cities,"  to  take  the  position  of  an 
assistant  teacher. 

As  soon  as  Captain  Pike  had  recovered  from  his  wounds, 
he  came  to  Knoxville,  and  frequently  visited  the  School 
Marms,  who  always  received  him  with  much  pleasure. 
He  endured  Mrs.  Duree  as  an  unavoidable  evil,  and  liked 


192  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 

Pennie  Eayniond  above  all  his  acquaintances,  for  she  alone 
could  charm  and  fascinate,  and  cause  him  to  forget  the 
lashings  of  a  guilty  conscience.  It  was  to  him  torture  — 
a  hell  on  earth,  to  be  left  to  his  own  thoughts,  and  for 
this  reason,  he  often  sought  her  companionship. 

He  now  began  prosecuting  claims  against  the  govern- 
ment, and  was  soon  engaged  in  some  stupendous  frauds, 
by  which  he  hoped  to  retrieve  a  squandered  fortune ;  but 
before  he  had  time  to  realize  much  from  this  source,  his 
attention  was  called  to  the  approaching  invasion  of  West- 
ern JN'orth  Carolina. 

Assisted  by  Lieutenant  Fukey,  he  began  to  raise  an  in- 
dependent company,  under  the  name  of  the  Union  Guards, 
and  soon  succeeded  in  drawing  together  a  band  of  cut- 
throats and  desperadoes  of  the  worst  character. 

One  day,  when  he  was  about  ready  to  set  out  on  the 
proposed  expedition,  a  middle  aged  individual  entered  his 
office,  dressed  as  an  every-day  laborer.  He  made  a  low 
bow,  and  then  said,  with  a  broad  Irish  accent : 

"  I  would  Hke  to  see  Captain  Pike ;  I  think  that  be  his 
name,  yer  honor." 

"  That's  my  name,"  he  replied,  impatiently. 

"  Wa'al,  Captain,  can  I  have  a  chance  in  your  company  ? 
I'm  dying,  yer  honor,  for  one  free  fight." 

"  It's  full,"  he  said,  crustily. 

"  Couldn't  you  let  a  man  fight  that's  ager  for  a  scrim- 
mage ?  "  continued  the  Irishman. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Captain  Pike,  somewhat 
amused  at  the  Irishman's  persistence. 

"  My  grandfather,  Michael  O'Neal,  called  me  Patrick, 
but  yer  honor  might  call  me  short  Pat ;  and  by  the  way 
Michael  O'Neal  was  fine  grit,  and  knew  how  to  wield  a 
shelala." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  lived  at  all,"  he  replied,  "  for  want  of  a  job 
of  work,  so  I  made  up  my  mind  to  take  a  pape  at  the 
rebels." 


A    STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  193 

"  My  comjDany  is  full,"  continued  the  Captain,  "  but  I 
want  some  one  to  attend  to  my  horse,  and  to  wait  on  me 
generally." 

"  I  am  yer  man,"  said  Pat ;  "  in  fact,  I  don't  like  fight- 
ing, nohow;  but  I  can  curry,  rub,  or  straddle  a  horse." 

"  I  will  try  you,"  said  Captain  Pike,  amused  at  his  com- 
ical expression. 

"  When  shall  I  begin  ?  "  asked  the  Irishman. 

''JN'ext  Monday  morning,  bright  and  early,"  replied  the 
Caj)tain. 

"  I  will  be  hero  without  fail,"  said  Pat,  as  he  walked 
away. 

Hiram  Pike  opened  a  memorandum  and  registered  the 
name  of  his  body  servant,  Pat  O'JSTeal,  without  the  slightest 
suspicion  that  he  had  ever  before  met  with  the  Irishman. 
He  never  dreamed  that  he  had  employed  a  notorious  Con- 
federate spy,  who  had  long  baffled  the  military  authori- 
ties. 


194  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 


CHAPTEE   XXYl. 

Trouble  at  Chola. 

The  fearful  drama  of  human  woe  was  rapidly  drawing 
to  a  close.  The  last  scene  of  the  long  and  bloody  tragedy 
was  now  being  enacted.  Four  j^ears  of  untold  suiferings 
had  been  endured  in  vain,  for  the  sake  of  constitutional 
liberty  ;  and  coercion,  the  hydra-headed  monster,  the  mer- 
ciless offspring  of  feudal  despotism,  was  about  to  triumph 
over  a  once  glorious  government,  of  consent.  The  South- 
ern States,  the  birthplace  of  statesmen  of  acknowledged 
ability,  who,  by  their  genius,  had  made  our  country  the 
wonder  and  admiration  of  the  world,  was  about  to  become 
helpless  at  the  feet  of  the  dominant  JS'orth,  where  a  few 
radical  politicians,  with  selfish  souls,  and  narrow,  contract- 
ed views,  entirely  governed  by  partisan  considerations, 
had  usurped  all  authority,  and  wickedly  trampled  under 
their  unhallowed  feet,  the  great  charter  of  American  free- 
dom. 

We  will  now  revisit  "Chola,"  and  follow  its  inmates 
through  the  closing  scenes  of  this  long,  cruel  and  fratri- 
cidal strife,  inaugurated  by  a  clan  of  unprincipled  leaders, 
who  had  determined  to  revolutionize  the  government,  and 
blot  the  institution  of  slavery  out  of  existence. 

Lena  and  her  cousin  were  alone,  watching  at  the  bed- 
side of  Mr.  Eston,  who  was  then  suffering  from  a  severe 
illness,  which  threatened  to  prove  fatal.  Three  days  pre- 
vious to  that  time,  a  Federal  force  had  occupied  Eaven- 
wood,  and  on  the  same  afternoon,  a  band  called  at  "  Chola" 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  195 

for  the  purpose  of  arresting  that  aged  gentleman.  They 
found  him  languishing  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  and  in  spite 
of  prayers,  tears,  and  entreaties,  he  was  compelled  to  rise 
and  proceed  with  them  to  Eavenwood,  on  a  cold  and  in- 
clement night.  Here  he  was  detained  by  the  Provost 
Marshal,  without  cause,  and  the  disease  was  much  aggra- 
vated by  the  exposure  and  anxiety.  He  was  finally  per- 
mitted to  return  home,  and  now  his  symptoms  were  of  a 
most  alarming  character. 

As  the  clock  struck  twelve,  the  sufferer  fell  asleep,  and 
the  cousins  drew  up  near  the  decaying  fire  and  sat  in  si- 
lence, busy  with  their  own  reflections,  and  apparently 
listening  to  the  moaning  winds,  until  they  heard  a  rap  at 
a  door  in  the  rear  of  the  building. 

"  Some  one  knocked,"  said  Lena,  in  evident  alarm. 

"It  was  but  the  window  shutters,"  said  Yenie,  wishing 
to  hide  her  fears. 

"  It  may  prove  another  band  of  plundering  Yankees," 
Lena  continued,  with  a  sigh.  "  We  may  be  robbed  and 
murdered  before  daylight.  Annie  Linton  told  us  before 
she  departed,  that  we  might  be  visited  by  some  indepen- 
dent company  of  cut-throats." 

"I  pray,"  said  Yenie,  "that  we  will  see  none  that  are 
worse  than  the  regular  army.  At  the  rate,  they  have  al- 
ready robbed  us,  we  will  soon  have  nothing." 

Here  they  heard,  distinctly,  another  rap  on  the  door, 
and  sprang  to  their  feet,  fearing  that  some  of  the  invaders 
were  demanding  admittance. 

Yenie  siezed  a  lamp,  and  proceeded  to  the  door,  follow- 
ed by  Lena.  They  opened  it  cautiously,  but  the  dreaded 
enemy  was  not  there.  One  lonely  individual,  dressed  in 
blue,  stood  before  them,  who  made  a  formal  bow,  spoke  in 
a  mild  tone,  and  then  entered. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  he  said,  "  it  is  your  old  friend,  Pat- 
rick Megram,  dressed  in  the  fashionable  blue." 

They  led  the  Irishman  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 


196  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

they  might  converse  without  disturbing  Mr.  Eston,  when 
he  told  them  in  a  few  words,  that  Captain  Pike  would 
soon  reach  "Chola,"  in  command  of  a  desperate  set  of  men, 
and  that  they  must  flee  to  a  place  of  safety. 

"  I  cannot  leave  my  father,"  said  Lena. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Linton  ?  "  asked  Pat. 

"  She  left  for  Haysville  yesterday." 

"  Ca]Dtain  Pike  captured  two  letters  she  had  written, 
and  is  furious.  She  must  be  warned  of  her  danger,  but  I 
cannot  proceed  there  to-night." 

"  I  will  go,"  said  Yenie. 

After  some  further  consultation,  Patrick  Megram  bade 
adieu  to  the  sorrowful  cousins,  and  set  out  on  his  return 
to  Captain  Pike's  headquarters.  A  half  hour  afterwards, 
Yenie  Ardin  mounted  Zep,  her  favorite  animal,  and  pro- 
ceeded alone  towards  Haysville,  twelve  miles  from  "  Chola." 

;Ji  *  *  ■*  #  * 

The  following  day  was  cold,  bleak,  and  dreary,  such 
as  we  sometimes  witness  at  the  approach  of  spring.  The 
heavens  were  overcast  with  swift-moving  clouds,  and  the 
winds  whistled  in  fitful  gusts,  as  if  all  nature  sympathized 
with  a  bereaved  and  distressed  people.  It  was,  indeed,  a 
sad  and  dreary  day  to  all  who  could  not  look 

"  Beyond  the  chilling  winds  and  gloomy  skies, 
Beyond  death's  cloudy  portal." 

Early  that  morning,  Lena  Eston  stood  on  the  piazza,  wear- 
ing a  sad  and  anxious  face.  She  seemed  unusually  deject- 
ed, and  sighed  as  her  eyes  rested  on  the  ravages  that  had 
been  committed  by  the  Federals  on  the  previous  day. 

Lena  had  many  reasons  to  be  troubled.  She  had,  on 
the  night  previous,  learned  that  Captain  Pike  and  his 
Union  Guards  were  advancing  towards  "Chola."  Yenie  was 
absent  from  home,  and  might  not  be  able  to  return  in  safe- 
ty, and  above  all,  she  had  been  told  on  that  morning  by 
the  family  physician,  that  her  loved  father  could  not  re- 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  197 

cover.  She  remained  motioDless  a  few  inomentB,  indulg- 
ing in  the  most  gloomy  reflections,  then  lifted  her  eyes  to 
Mount  Chola,  whose  summit  was  mantled  in  snow.  She 
sighed,  and  said  to  herself :  "It  is  hard  to  bear,  but  I 
must  pray  for  a  spirit  of  resignation." 

She  returned  to  her  father  and  sat  down  at  his  dying 
couch,  enduring  the  pangs  of  unutterable  misery,  but  she 
was  not  long  permitted  to  indulge  in  these  mournful  re- 
flections. The  door  bell  rang  violently,  and  she  sprang 
up,  supposing  she  must  face  another  company  of  insulting 
Federals. 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  the  bell  rang  furiously, 
when,  leaving  the  servant  to  watch  at  her  father's  bed- 
side, she  hastened  to  answer  the  summons.  Oaths  fell  on 
her  ears  as  she  oj)ened  the  door,  and  found  a  company  of 
Yankees,  led  by  a  red-complected  officer,  whom  she  recog- 
nized as  she  same  that  had  arrested  her  in  Tennessee. 

"  Miss  Eston,  I  believe,"  said  the  red-faced  Lieutenant, 
who  appeared  to  be  partially  intoxicated,  "I  am  very 
much  pleased  to  meet  you  again ;  but  first,  to  business. 
I  am  ordered  to  search  this  house." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"  That's  my  business,"  he  replied,  abruptly,  with  an  oath. 
"  I  don't  answer  questions  asked  by  rebels.  Perhaps 
there  is  a  deserter,  or  a  secreted  '  Johnny,'  in  the  dwell- 
ing." 

"  There  is  no  one  here  but  my  father,"  said  Lena,  "who 
is  at  the  point  of  death." 

"  So  the  old  Eeb.  is  about  to  die,  eh  ?  Just  in  time  to 
escape  justice." 

Lena's  cheeks  crimsoned  at  this  insulting  language,  but 
she  feared  to  resent  the  words.  She  must  endure  in  si- 
lence the  reign  of  a  hated  military  despotism. 

"  Clear  the  track,"  cried  Lieutenant  Fukey,  as  he  pushed 
the  trembling  Lena  aside,  and  entered,  followed  by  a  num- 
ber of  armed  men. 


198  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 

A  general  search  then  began,  during  which  some  jewel- 
ry, choice  trinkets,  and  various  other  articles  di^eappeared. 
Every  room,  closet,  and  corner  was  examined  with  great 
care  ;  feather  beds  were  ripped,  open,  and  mattresses  cut 
to  pieces.  The  persevering  Yankees  even  thrust  their 
sabres  into  ladies'  skirts  and  dresses  suspended  in  the 
wardrobe,  lest  these  might  contain  the  secreted  form  of 
some  dreaded  rebel. 

When  Lieutenant  Fukey  had  examined  every  apart- 
ment in  the  house,  includino;  the  room  where  Mr.  Eston 
lay,  he  asked  Lena  many  questions  in  regard  to  matters 
of  which  she  was  entirely  ignorant.  He  appeared  spe- 
cially anxious  to  learn  something  in  regard  to  a  deserter 
by  the  name  of  Patrick  O'Xeal,  and  because  she  could 
not  give  him  the  desired  information,  he  raved,  threatened, 
swore  most  profanely,  and  finally  left,  saying  he  would 
call  on  her  again. 

****** 

About  sundown  Mr.  Eston  sank  into  a  deep  stupor,  and 
for  some  hours  he  remained  perfectly  quiet,  but  Lena 
knew  by  his  labored  breathing,  that  she  must  soon  bid 
him  adieu  forever.  Oh  !  how  bitter,  how  poignant  her 
grief,  as  she  sat  alone,  thinking  of  her  absent  cousin,  who 
had  been  unaccountably  detained,  and  mourning  over  the 
loss  she  was  about  to  sustain  by  the  death  of  her  parent. 

As  the  clock  struck  the  hour  of  ten,  the  sufferer  moved, 
and  she  instantly  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood  weeping 
over  the  loved  one  then  passing  away  from  a  world  of  sor- 
row and  tribulation. 

Mr.  Eston  looked  at  his  daughter  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said  in  a  low,  feeble  tone  : 

*'  Yenie  has  not  returned  ?  " 

"]S'o,  but  I  am  expecting  her  every  moment." 

''  Oh,  my  children,  what  will  become  of  you,"  he  said, 
in  feeble  accents.  "  I  am  dying  —  I  will  soon  leave  you 
forever." 


A    STORY    OF    THE   CRUEL    WAR.  199 

Lena  looked  around  for  the  servant  girl,  who  had  re- 
mained with  her  during  the  day,  but  she  was  gone,  per- 
haps not  to  return  again.  She  was  alone  with  the  dying. 
There  was  no  friendly  hand  to  assist  her  in  her  distress. 
Even  the  slaves  had  deserted  her,  and  fled  to  the  Yankees 
at  Eavenwood. 

"My  last  hour  has  come,"  continued  Mr.  Eston.  "It 
grieves  me  to  leave  you  thus  in  the  midst  of  enemies,  but 
I  trust  God  will  be  your  friend.  He  has  promised  that 
He  will  If  ever  leave  nor  forsake  those  that  rely  in  His 
mercy." 

After  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  his  lips  again  moved. 
She  inclined  her  head,  and  heard  him  sa}^ :  "  God  will  be 
your  shield  and  buckler  in  every  day  of  adversity,  so  you 
shall  not  be  afraid  of  the  terror  by  night,  nor  of  the  ar- 
row that  flieth  by  day,  nor  of  the  pestilence  that  walketh 
in  darkness,  nor  of  the  destruction  that  wasteth  at  noon- 
day." 

Again  he  continued  in  broken  accents:  "Head  that 
hymn  I  love  so  well,"  and  Lena  began  the  lines  to  which 
he  referred.  Her  voice  was  low,  sad  and  touching,  and 
so  great  was  her  emotion,  that  she  could  not  finish  it. 
She  then  looked  up  through  her  tears  at  his  pale  features, 
and  saw  a  faint  smile  fj^ather  over  his  calm  face  as  he  re- 
peated : 


o' 


"  There  on  a  green  and  flowery  mount, 
Our  weary  souls  shall  sit, 
And  with  transporting  joys  recount, 
The  labors  of  our  feet." 

After  a  short  silence,  Lena  read  the  well  known  hymn 
beginning:  "Come,  let  us  join  our  friends  above,"  until 
she  came  to  the  lines, 

"Part  of  the  host  has  crossed  the  flood, 
And  part  are  crossing  now." 

Here  her  feelings  became  so  intense,  that  she  broke 


200  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

down,  and  was  unable  to  continue.  She  bowed  her  head, 
and  said  to  herself:  '•'  Oh,  it  is  hard  to  lose  an  only  parent 
and  protector,  when  all  the  world  around  is  in  commo- 
tion ;  when  my  bitterest  enemy  is  advancing  to  renew  his 
persecution  ;  when  all  my  friends  are  absent,  and  Avhen 
there  is  no  one,  not  even  a  servant,  to  assist  me  in  my  dis- 
tress." 

She  then  took  her  father's  cold  hand,  and  stood  clinging 
to  it  as  if  she  could  not  let  him  depart. 

"  Weep  not,  my  daughter,"  he  said,  in  feeble  accents. 
"  We  will  soon  meet  in  heaven,  where  there  will  be  no 
more  sorrow,  no  more  weeping,  no  more  tears ;  where  we 
will  see  Jesus  as  he  is,  be  like  Him,  and  reign  with  Him 
forever." 

These  were  Mr.  Eston's  last  words.  He  soon  afterwards 
sank  into  the  sleep  of  death,  and  his  spirit  passed  away 
from  this  blood-stained  and  desolated  earth,  to  an  eternal 

rest. 

Lena  adjusted  her  father's  lifeless  arras  across  his  breast, 
gently  closed  his  eyelids,  and  then  sat  down,  pale,  tearless, 
in  speechless  grief. 

"  All  alone,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Alone  Avith  the  dead,  alone 
in  the  midst  of  bitter  enemies.'.' 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  201 


CHAPTEE    XXYII. 

Lena  could  not  lona*  indulo;e  in  sorrow.  She  must  have 
assistance,  but  knew  not  how  to  obtain  it.  Fortunately, 
the  servant  girl,  who  had  suddenly  disappeared,  returned 
in  the  moment  of  need,  from  whom  she  learned  that  two 
of  the  negro  men  had  returned  home.  She  sent  for  them 
immediately,  and  they  soon  arrived,  gave  to  the  dead  the 
necessary  attention,  and  then  departed,  leaving  Lena  alone 
with  the  servant. 

A  few  minutes  afterwards,  Lena  learned  from  this  ser- 
vant that  one  of  the  slaves  had  returned  from  Eavenwood, 
and  reported  that  Yenie  had  been  captured,  and  was  held 
as  a  prisoner,  by  the  Federals.  She  sat  down  and  wrote  to 
her  cousin : 

"  Father  is  dead,  and  I  advise  you  not  to  return  to 
"  Chola."  If  you  are  able  to  escape,  I  think  you  should 
cross  the  mountains  immediately.  Our  worst  enemy  will 
be  here  in  the  morning.  God  only  knows  what  will  be 
my  fate.  I  will  soon  follow  you,  if  possible,  beyond  the 
mountains." 

She  then  induced  the  servant,  by  the  promise  of  a  large 
reward,  to  undertake  to  carry  it  immediately  to  Eaven- 
wood, and  deliver  it  to  her  cousin.  The  girl  departed,  and 
Lena  was  alone  with  the  dead.  As  she  sat  there,  near 
that  lifeless  form,  in  the  silent  hours  of  the  night,  she  felt 
most  unutterably  sad,  lonely  and  desolate.  So  deep  and 
9* 


202  THE    SUNNY    LAND  J 

poignant  was  her  distress,  that  she  involuntarily  exclaimed, 
aloud  : 

"  T  would  not  live  ahvay  !  I  ask  not  to  stajr ; 
Where  storm  after  storm  rises  dark  o'er  the  way." 

She  was  suddenly  aroused  from  her  painful  reflection, 
by  a  noise  that  resembled  the  approach  of  horsemen.  She 
arose,  nervously,  went  into  an  adjoining  room,  where  a 
dim  lamp  was  burning,  opened  the  window,  and  could  dis- 
tinctly hear  the  rattle  of  sabres,  and,  at  the  same  time,  she 
perceived  a  long  row  of  camp  fires,  along  the  margin  of 
the  river.  She  turned  away  from  the  window,  with  a 
shudder,  supposing  that  the  much  dreaded  Independent 
Company  had  arrived ;  but  the  next  moment  the  door- 
bell rang.  After  a  moment's  reflection,  she  opened  it, 
with  feelings  of  terror  that  may  be  more  easily  imagined 
than  described,  and  the  villain  she  most  feared,  entered 
without  ceremony.  She  instantly  shrank  back,  and  stood 
in  silence,  surveying  the  monster  in  human  shape. 

Captain  Pike  did  not  utter  a  word  for  some  moments. 
A  dark,  sinister  smile  spread  over  his  countenance,  as  he 
bowed  formally,  and  said  : 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,  Miss  Eston."  And  then  con- 
tinued, in  his  blandest  tones:  "  I  have  called  at  an  unusual 
hour,  but  I  hope  you  will  excuse  it  in  a  Federal  officer. 
My  men  have  just  arrived,  and  encamped  on  this  planta- 
tion, and,  as  I  was  passing,  I  observed  a  light  in  your  win- 
dow, and  could  not  resist  the  temptation  of  calling,  with- 
out delay,  on  one  I  love  so  well." 

Lena  made  no  reply.  She  remained  motionless,  and 
seemed  dumb  with  amazement.  The  thoughts  of  the  past, 
the  terrors  she  had  already  borne,  and  the  fresh  trial  to 
be  endured,  crowded  on  her  mind  like  so  many  hideous 
spectres.  Eeason,  itself,  was  almost  dethroned,  and  she 
was  then  unable  to  even  plan  for  her  own  safety. 

Hiram  Pike  was  completely  deceived  by  her  motionless 


A    STORY    OP    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  203 

attitude.  He  hesitated  a  few  moments,  then  advanced  to- 
wards the  trembling  beauty,  and  said,  in  a  changed  tone  : 

^'  I  presume  you  will  no  longer  resist  your  manifest  des- 
tiny. You  will  now  agree  to  be  mine,  and  bestow  on  me 
your  warmest  aftection." 

As  Hiram  Pike  concluded  this  sentence,  he  threw  out 
his  hand  towards  Lena,  as  if  intending  to  clasp  her  in  his 
arms.  This  movement  suddenly  aroused  her  to  a  sense  of 
her  danger,  and,  quick  as  thought,  she  darted  into  the 
room  containing  the  corpse  of  her  father,  instinctively 
feeling  that  these  cold  remains  could  protect  her  against 
this  living  enemy. 

Captain  Pike  followed  her  into  the  chamber  of  death, 
and  exclaimed : 

"  You  cannot  escape  me,  dearest  Lena.  The  whole 
country  is  subjugated,  your  friends  are  all  ruined,  and  there 
is  none  that  dare  to  offer  you  protection.  Be  mine,  will- 
ingly, and " 

He  ceased  speaking,  without  completing  the  sentence. 
Lena  had  suddenly  unveiled  the  face  of  the  dead,  and, 
stood  pointing  to  the  lifeless  clay.  She  then  placed  her 
hand  on  the  marble  brow,  and  said,  in  a  low,  solemn  tone, 
that  even  startled  the  villain  at  her  side  : 

"  I  vow,  by  the  sacred  memory  of  my  sainted  father, 
that  rather  than  wed  one  I  despise,  rather  than  be  the 
wife  of  a  murderer,  I  will  sleep  with  him  in  the  silent 
grave." 

Captain  Pike  was  awed  by  this  fearful  scene.  He  stood 
a  moment  undecided,  then  made  one  threatening  gesture, 
hissed  through  his  teeth  "  another  time,"  and  glided  out 
of  the  house. 

*  5}S  *  *  *  *  * 

At  the  same  time  Hiram  Pike  departed  from  this  dwell- 
ing, a  man,  wearing  a  Federal  uniform,  might  have  been 
seen  half  concealed  in  the  adjoining  shrubbery.  The  full 
moon  had  risen,  in  all  her  splendor,  enveloping  the  earth 


204  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

in'her  liquid  light,  so  that  objects  could  easily  be  distin- 
guished, and  a  savage  smile  broke  over  his  face,  as  he 
heard  the  sound  of  advancing  footsteps. 

A  moment  afterwards,  he  suddenly  sprang  into  the  path 
before  Captain  Pike,  knocked  him  down,  and  plunged  his 
knife  into  his  breast,  muttering : 

"  Die,  murderer  —  die,  assassin  — die,  fiilse  traitor." 

He  quietly  contemplated  his  bloody  work,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, then,  as  he  walked  away,  muttering,  half-aloud : 

"Xow  a  murdered  father  and  a  ruined  sister,  are  aven- 
ged. JS'o  one  will  know  that  I  committed  the  deed.  Some 
poor  rebel  will  be  held  accountable  for  it." 

Alvin  Croft  imagined  that  no  eye  had  witnessed  this 
act,  but  there  was  another  silent  actor  on  the  stage. 
When  Captain  Pike  was  conversing  with  Lena,  a  man, 
completely  disguised,  stood  at  the  window,  holding  a  knife 
and  pistol,  watching  every  movement ;  ready  to  use  his 
weapons,  should  it  become  necessary  in  order  to  protect 
the  unhappy  orphan.  When  that  villain  had  left  the 
house,  he  stood  irresolute  a  few  moments,  then  walked 
around  the  house,  to  the  front  door,  and  was  about  to  en- 
ter it,  when  he  heard  the  struggle.  He  listened  a  few 
moments,  and  then  went  to  investigate  the  nature  of  this 
unexpected  contest.  The  deed  was  done  when  he  came 
in  sight,  and  Alvin  Croft  was  standing  motionless,  gazing 
at  the  murdered  officer.  As  soon  as  the  assassin  had  de- 
parted, he  went  and  examined  the  prostrate  form,  until 
he  was  satisfied  life  was  extinct;  after  which  he  said,  half- 
aloud  : 

''  It  is  hard,  3Ir.  Pike,  very  hard,  to  die  like  a  dog  ;  but 
it  is  just.  You  didn't  receive  a  stroke  amiss.  I  am  glad 
Patrick  Megram  did  not  have  to  perform  this  deed." 

The  Irishman  stood,  a  few  moments,  in  a  reflective 
mood,  as  if  trying  to  solve  some  vexatious  problem,  and 
then  muttered,  half-aloud : 

"  This  carcass  won't  suffer,  so  it  can  remain  until  morn- 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  205 

ing.  Lena  is  alone,  with  the  dead,  but  the  dead  are  peace- 
able. Venie  is  in  the  hands  of  the  living,  and  I  would 
rather  risk  a  whole  regiment  of  ghosts,  and  the  devil  him- 
self, than  a  pack  of  prowling  Yankees." 

Patrick  Megram  now  turned  his  steps  towards  Mills 
Eiver,  soon  reached  its  banks,  and  led  out  his  horse  from 
a  place  of  concealment.  He  then  mounted,  and  went 
galloping  down  the  road,  towards  Eavenwood. 

As  soon  as  Captain  Pike  had  departed,  Lena  sank  down 
on  a  chair,  and  endeavored  to  collect  her  scattered  thoughts. 
A  quiet  hour  passed  away,  and  she  began  to  feel  some- 
what reassured,  when  some  sound,  resembling  a  distant 
groan,  fell  on  her  ear.  She  listened  for  a  time,  but  all  was 
silent. 

Again  she  heard  a  wail,  that  arose  distinctly  on  the 
night  air.  It  seemed  to  proceed  from  some  one  near  the 
house,  and  indicated  the  deepest  distress.  She  remained  ir- 
resolute some  moments,  and  listened  for  its  repetition,  but 
she  could  hear  nothing  more  of  it,  and  finally  concluded 
that  she  had  been  mistaken. 

Lena  now  labored  to  become  calm.  All  was  quiet  for 
some  time,  when  a  most  piteous  cry  of  distress  fell  on  her 
ears.  She  sprang  to  her  feet.  "  It  must  be  some  one  suf- 
fering," she  said  ;  "  some  one  in  pain,  some  one  that  needs 
assistance." 

She  went  to  the  window  and  opened  it,  when  she  could 
hear  the  most  unearthly  groans,  but  they  gradually  became 
inaudible,  and  finally  ceased  entirely.  She  knew  not  what 
to  think  of  all  this,  and  was  half  inclined  to  attribute  it 
entirely  to  her  excited  imagination.  Sometimes  she  sus- 
pected it  was  some  of  the  Federals,  who  were  attempting 
to  frighten  her  from  the  premises,  in  order  to  commit  a 
robbery. 

Lena  returned  to  her  seat,  and  tried  to  forget  those 
touching  moans,  but  they  still  haunted  her  like  a  hideous 


206  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

phantom  of  the  night.  She  attempted  to  concentrate  her 
mind  on  her  present  condition,  and  consider  how  she 
should  meet  the  difficulties  of  the  approaching  day,  and 
was  beginning  to  succeed,  when  a  long,  deep  and  touching 
wail  of  anguish  caused  her  to  spring  to  her  feet.  She 
stood  trembling,  with  that  natural  superstitious  dread  in- 
herent in  all  the  human  race,  until  another  cry  of  distress 
arose,  when  she  resolved  to  go  and  learn  the  cause. 

She  cast  one  long,  lingering  look  at  the  corpse  of  her 
last  and  only  friend,  offered  one  short  and  fervent  petition 
to  heaven,  gathered  up  a  lighted  lamp,  and  walked  to  the 
front  door,  which  she  opened,  and  halted  to  learn  from 
whence  the  sound  proceeded.  A  low  moan  was  audible, 
and  she  walked  on,  trembling  with  fear,  but  determined 
to  unravel  the  mystery. 

Suddenly  she  halted,  and  shrank  back  with  indescriba- 
ble horror.  There  lay  Hiram  Pike,  weltering  in  his  own 
blood.  She  was  paralyzed,  and  unable  to  move.  Her 
tongue  bad  lost  its  utterance,  and  her  muscles  the  power 
of  contraction.  Only  a  few  moments  had  elapsed,  when 
a  horseman  galloped  up  to  the  spot,  sprang  from  his  horse, 
and  exclaimed  in  the  broad  Irish  accent : 

"  Miss  Eston,  why  are  you  here  ?  " 

Lena  could  not  answer.  She  had  no  words  of  welcome 
for  the  faithful  Irishman  to  whom  she  was  so  much  in- 
debted. His  unexpected  appearance  was  to  her  an  inex- 
pressible relief,  and  the  intense  excitement  under  which 
she  suffered  began  to  subside. 

Patrick  Megram  hastily  examined  his  wounded  enemy, 
drew  the  broken  blade  of  a  knife  from  his  breast,  and 
staunched  the  blood  with  his  handkerchief.  He  then  took 
the  lamp  Lena  mechanically  held  in  her  hand,  and  gently 
led  her  back  to  the  house. 

Patrick  Megram  only  remained  to  speak  a  few  hurried 
words  to  the  unhappy  Lena.  He  must  first  notify  Cap- 
tain Pike's  men  where  they  could  find  their  wounded 


A    STORY   OP   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  207 

leader,  and  then  adopt  measures  to  arrest  the  dangers  he 
foresaw  would  inevitably  arise. 

When  Lena  was  alone,  she  began  to  consider  the  diffi- 
culties she  might  reasonably  expect  to  encounter  within  a 
few  hours.  She  knew  that  the  Federals  sometimes  would 
burn  down  every  house  in  a  neighborhood  where  any  offi- 
cer had  been  killed  or  wounded.  She  expected  H'iram 
Pike's  men  to  visit  "Chola"  early  in  the  morning,  and  trem- 
bled with  fearful  apprehensions. 

She  knelt  down  and  commended  herself  to  a  merciful 
and  compassionate  God.  She  prayed  that  prayer  of  faith 
which  is  "  the  wealth  of  poverty,  the  strength  of  weak- 
ness, the  refuge  of  trouble,  which  flies  on  wings  of  love 
to  the  great  white  throne,  to  the  ear  of  Him  who  never 
slumbers,"  to  one  that  has  said,  "  ask  and  ye  shall  receive." 
She  then  remembered  that  it  was  written,  "  the  mountains 
shall  depart,  and  the  hills  be  removed,  but  His  kindness  will 
not  depart,"  and  she  recalled  the  consoling  words,  "When 
thou  passest  through  the  waters,  I  will  be  with  thee, 
and  through  the  rivers,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee ;  when 
thou  walkest  through  the  fire,  thou  shall  not  be  burnt, 
neither  shall  the  flame  kindle  upon  thee." 

She  gradually  became  calm,  and  the  intense  excitement 
was  succeeded  by  a  spirit  of  resignation.  She  was  finally 
enabled  to  look  to  the  hills  from  whence  help  cometh,  and 
to  say  in  her  heart,  "  Thy  will  be  done.  It  is  the  Lord  : 
let  Him  do  as  seemeth  to  Him  good." 

This  long  night  of  sorrow  was  drawing  to  a  close,  and 
darkness  began  to  disappear  before  the  light  of  approach- 
ing day.  Lena  arose  and  threw  open  the  window  shut- 
ters, and  looked  out  on  the  gray  mists  of  morning,  which 
rendered  the  heights  of  "  Chola"  invisible,  and  shrouded  the 
surrounding  hills  in  gloomy  curtains.  All  nature  wore  a 
sombre  aspect,  and  seemed  to  have  draped  itself  in  the 
habilaments  of  woe,  to  keep  in  unison  with  bereaved,  dis- 
tressed and  weeping  mortals. 


208  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

A  few  of  the  slaves,  having  grown  weary  of  the  Feder- 
als, returned  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  appeared 
much  affected  at  the  death  of  Mr.  Eston.  They  prepared 
as  good  a  breakfast  as  possible,  with  the  small  amount  of 
materials  that  had  escaped  the  rapacious  invaders.  Lena 
had  no  appetite,  but  she  managed  to  swallow  as  much  food 
as  possible,  so  that  she  might  be  able  to  meet  the  expect- 
ed trials  of  the  day. 

As  she  arose  from  the  table,  Lieutenant  Fukey  stalked 
into  the  house,  followed  by  a  band  of  armed  men,  and 
said,  in  an  insolent  tone : 

"  I  wish  to  know  who  attempted  to  murder  Captain 
Pike  ?  " 

Lena  made  no  response  to  this  query,  and  he  contin- 
ued : 

"  ITow  tell  the  truth,  the  whole  truth,  and  nothing  else 
but  the  truth." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Lena,  calmly. 

"  You  can  easily  tell,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  with  a  sneer. 
"  You  know  all  about  it,  and  probably  hired  some  black- 
hearted rebel  to  do  the  deed." 

Lena  did  not  possess  a  spirit  that  would  quietly  submit 
to  such  insultino;  lano-uasce  from  a  low-bred  villain.  She 
replied  indignantly,  that  she  would  answer  no  more  ques- 
tions, unless  propounded  in  a  respectful  manner. 

"  By  Jove,  you  will  be  glad  to  answer  questions  before 
you  are  done  with  this  matter,"  continued  the  Lieutenant, 
in  a  menacing  tone. 

He  then  turned  to  a  number  of  slaves,  by  whom  he  ex- 
pected to  prove  all  he  desired.  He  examined  one  after 
another,  to  no  purpose,  for  they  all  told  the  same  story, 
and  revealed  nothing  in  regard  to  the  attempted  murder. 

The  Lieutenant,  finding  he  could  learn  nothing  from 
the  colored  people,  said,  addressing  Lena: 

"  I  have  orders  to  burn  this  house,  and  will  do  so,  unless 
you  deliver  up  the  guilty  party." 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  209 

"  Who  gave  you  such  orders?  "  asked  Lena. 

"  My  superior,"  he  said,  evasively. 

"  The  authorities  at  Eavenwood  ?  "  she  said,  interroga- 
tively. 

Lieutenant  Fukey  silenced  Lena  by  uttering  a  few  pro- 
fane oaths,  and  made  no  reply  to  the  question.  Since 
Hiram  Pike's  misfortune,  he  was  the  highest  in  command, 
and  had  assumed  the  threatened  responsibility  of  his  own 
accord.  He  now  turned  to  the  soldiers,  and  ordered  them 
to  carry  out  Mr.  Eston's  corpse,  after  which  they  might 
plunder  and  burn  the  house. 

Some  half  dozen  of  soldiers  now  advanced  to  obey  this 
order,  when  Lena  sprang  before  them,  and  stood  waving 
her  hands  in  open  defiance. 

"  Do  as  you  are  commanded,"  cried  the  Lieutenant,  but 
no  one  stirred.  He  watched  them  a  moment,  and  then 
thundered  forth  in  a  furious  tone : 

"  Arrest  her  this  moment !  Arrest  her  instantly  !  She 
shall  go  to  our  camp  and  answer  for  this  murder." 

There  was  not  a  soldier  who  moved  to  obey  this  com- 
mand. They  all  gazed  at  her  silently,  and  neither  moved 
nor  spoke.  There  was  something  in  that  sorrowful  face 
so  lovely,  so  gentle,  and  so  pure,  that  touched  their 
hardened  hearts,  aroused  some  sense  of  pity,  and  caused 
them  to  stand  awed  and  motionless. 

"  Dare  you  disobey  orders,"  cried  the  excited  Lieuten- 
ant. ''  rU  have  you  punished.  Lay  hold  of  her  this  mo- 
ment," he  added,  stamping  his  foot  upon  th^  floor. 

At  the  same  time  this  scene  was  occurring,  a  tall,  broad- 
shouldered,  and  well-made  negro  man,  who  had  ever  been 
the  property  of  Mr.  Eston,  known  as  the  "  Sampson  of  the 
plantation,"  was  gradually  elbowing  his  way  through  the 
soldiers,  towards  the  daughter  of  his  late  master.  He 
said  nothing,  but  any  close  observer  might  have  read  the 
deep  indignation  he  felt,  as  he  stood  with  his  arm^s  folded 
across  his  breast.  Lieutenant  Fukey  advanced  towards 
Lena,  and  found  Sampson  in  his  way. 


210  THE  SUNNY  land; 

"Stand  aside/' he  said,  in  a  crasty  tone,  to  which  he 
appended  an  oath. 

The  colored  man  remained  stationary,  without  so  much 
as  moving  a  muscle  of  the  foce. 

"  Get  out  of  my  way,"  he  continued,  "you  black  imp,'!, 
and  at  the  same  time  gave  him  a  sudden  push. 

This  was  more  than  Sampson  could  bear,  and  he  in- 
stantly planted  his  huge  fist  between  the  Lieutenant's 
eyes,  and  the  next  blow  he  knocked  out  a  number  of  his 
teeth,  and  sent  him  reeling  across  the  floor. 

The  negro  man  would  have  been  butchered  instantly, 
by  the  furious  soldiers,  had  no  one  interfered  in  his  behalf, 
but  the  next  moment,  a  Federal  officer,  bearinor  the  rank 
of  Major,  apj^eared  in  their  midst,  accompanied  by  Pat- 
rick Xegram  and  a  squad  of  soldiers,  who  ordered  the 
room  to  be  cleared  immediately. 

Major  Hunter,  who  had  appeared  at  such  an  auspicious 
moment,  had  been  induced  to  visit  "  Chola"  at  the  instance 
of  Patrick  Megram.  He  was,  in  every  respect,  a  gentle- 
man, and  always  ready  to  protect  the  innocent  and  help- 
less victims  of  war. 


That  same  afternoon,  Mr.  Eston  was  buried  at  the  foot 
of  Mount  Chola.  When  that  solemn  service  was  over, 
Lena  returned  to  the  dwelling-house,  lonely,  sad  and  deso- 
late. The  exciting  scenes  through  which  she  had  passed , 
had,  in  somemieasure,  diverted  her  mind  from  her  irrepar- 
able loss,  but  her  grief  now  returned  with  redoubled  force. 

All  was  darkness  and  gloom,  without  a  ray  of  light,  un- 
til she  recalled  the  words :  "  Why  art  thou  so  cast  down, 
oh,  my  soul  ?  why  art  thou  so  disquieted  within  me  ?  hope 
thou  in  Grod ;  "  and  then,  after  a  few  moment's  reflection, 
she  said  to  herself: 

"  Earth  has  no  sorrow  that  heaven  cannot  heal." 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  211 

Suddenly  hope  seemed  to  spring  up  in  her  breast,  and, 
after  a  few  moments,  she  repeated,  in  mournful  sadness : 

"  Why  throb,  my  heart,  why  sink,  my  saddening  soul ; 
Why  droop  to  the  earth  by  various  foes  opprest  ? 
My  ears  may  yet  in  blissful  circles  run, 
And  peace  be  yet  an  inmate  of  my  breast.' ' 


212  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 


CHAPTEE   XXYIII. 

Venie  Ardin's  Adventures. 

It  was  on  a  dark,  cloudy  and  disagreeable  night,  when 
Yenie  Ardin  set  out  for  Haysville,  for  the  purpose  of  warn- 
ing her  friend  of  her  danger;  but  she  was  a  fearless  rider, 
made  rapid  progress,  and  reached  her  destination  soon 
after  day-light.  She  proceeded  immediately  to  the  resi- 
dence of  John  Burton,  and  aroused  the  family  much  ear- 
lier than  they  were  accustomed  to  rise. 

"  You  must  be  fleeing  from  the  Yankees,"  said  Annie 
Linton. 

"  No,  indeed,^'  replied  Yenie,  "  but  I  came  to  advise  you 
to  escape." 

"  It  would  be  useless,"  said  Annie,  in  a  sorrowful  tone. 
^' All  our  toil  and  labor  has  proved  in  vain.  After  having 
sacrificed  everything,  we  hear  the  last  expiring  groan  of 
the  Confederacy." 

Yenie  now  informed  her  friend  of  her  danger  from  Cap- 
tain Pike,  and  soon  convinced  her  it  would  be  advisable 
to  keep  out  of  the  reach  of  that  desperado  ;  and  as  he  was 
liable  to  send  for  her  that  morning,  she  concluded  to  leave 
without  delay. 

Annie  immediately  began  to  prepare  for  her  proposed 
flight.  As  soon  as  she  had  partaken  of  a  hasty  breakfast 
she  bid  them  all  a  kind  and  afi'ectionate  adieu,  and  set  out 
for  parts  unknown.  She  took  the  road  leading  to  Eaven- 
wood,  but  as  soon  as  she  was  alone,  she  changed  her 
course,  and  travelled  in  another  direction. 


A    STORY    OP   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  213 

Yenie  was  detained  some  time  longer,  but  finally  mount- 
ed Zep,  and  was  about  to  proceed  home,  when  a  squad  of 
cavalry,  belonging  to  Captain  Pike's  command,  galloped 
up  to  the  door  and  halted. 

These  men  were  under  the  direction  of  a  tall,  uncouth, 
and  ungainly  East  Tennessean,  who  issued  his  orders  in  a 
pompous  style,  and  then  threw  out  of  his  mouth  an  enor- 
mous quid  of  tobacco,  preparatory  to  proceeding  with  the 
business  of  the  day. 

Yenie  saw  that  flight  was  impossible,  and  concluded  to 
remain  quiet  on  her  animal,  and  await  the  result. 

"  Does  Mr.  Burton  live  here?"  asked  the  backwoodsman, 
in  a  long,  drawling  tone,  addressing  a  frightened  negro 
girl,  who  stood  gazing  at  the  first  blue  coat  she  had  ever 
witnessed,  with  a  strange  mixture  of  fear  and  admiration. 

Yenie  imagined  that  this  was  a  favorable  moment  to 
make  her  escape,  and  attempted  to  ride  away,  when  he 
turned  from  the  servant,  and  cried,  in  a  coarse,  creaking 
voice : 

"  Stop  thar  —  I  say  stop  thar,  rite  off." 

Yenie  obeyed  this  peremptory  command  in  silence,  when 
he  continued  : 

*'  Well,  that's  a  rael  good  boss,  or  Bill  Blumer  aint  no 
judge.  Hit's  the  rite  kind  of  hossflesh  for  the  sarvice,  eh  ! 
I'le  bet  hit  can  run  darned  fast,  eh !  "  then  added,  abrupt- 
ly :  "  what  mout  your  name  be  ?  " 

"Yenie  Ardin,"  replied  the  frightened  young  lady. 

"  Ardin,  you  say  Ardin  —  Yenie,"  he  repeated  such  a 
name  ;  now  say,  haint  hit  Annie  Linton  ?  " 

"  It  is  not,"  she  replied, 

Bill  Blumer,  as  he  was  known  in  his  native  regions,  now 
turned  to  his  own  men,  and  said  : 

"See  here,  fellers,  that  gal  says  she  hain't  the  wun  we 
wants,  so  I  guess  we  are  arter  the  wrong  critter ; "  he 
then  added,  in  a  lower  tone:  "wonder  if  that  boss  is 
hern?" 


214  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

"  Ask  the  niggers/'  said  a  soldier. 

"  Yes,"  continued  Bill  Blumer;  "bring'out  the  woolly- 
heads,  and  then  we'll  git  the  truth  all  at  once." 

The  kitchen  department  were  all  summoned,  who  alike 
testified  that  the  lady  in  question  was  not  Annie  Linton, 
and  that  she  rode  her  own  horse.  They  also  informed 
them  that  the  lady  they  sought,  had  left  early  that  morn- 
ing in  the  direction  of  Eavenwood,  upon  which  Mr.  Blum- 
er dispatched  a  portion  of  his  squad  in  pursuit,  with  or- 
ders to  take  her  dead  or  alive. 

Yenie  now  imagined  she  would  escape,  but  unfortunate- 
ly one  of  the  colored  witnesses  repeated  her  name  so  often 
that  a  new  idea  entered  the  backwoodsman's  obtuse  brain. 
He  drew  a  paper  out  of  his  pocket  containing  a  list  of 
spotted  citizens,  and  after  a  long  and  labored  effort,  suc- 
ceeded in  deciphering  Yenie  Ardin.  A  smile  broke  over 
his  coarse  features,  as  he  again  looked  at  her  horse,  which 
he  so  much  coveted,  and  ordered  her  to  be  arrested  and 
taken  to  Captain  Pike's  head-quarters. 

A  moment  afterwards,  a  mounted  company  of  Federals 
from  Eavenwood,  made  their  appearance.  Yenie  appealed 
to  the  officer  in  command,  hoping  he  would  set  her  at  lib- 
erty. He  examined  the  slaves  in  regard  to  her  visit  to 
Haysville,  and  then  decided  that  he  would  take  her  before 
the  Provost  Marshal,  at  Eavenwood.  Thus  she  escaped  the 
clutches  of  Hiram  Pike,  and  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  more 
polished  horde  of  invaders. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Yenie  Ardin  entered 
Eavenwood,  escorted  by  a  number  of  Federal  soldiers,  and 
was  immediately  taken  before  a  sour,  crusty,  ignorant  and 
repulsive  officer,  then  acting  as  Provost  Marshal,  who  de- 
clared that  her  case  must  be  defei-red,  and  ordered  her  to 
be  kept  secure  until  the  following  morning. 

It  was  all  in  vain  that  Yenie  requested  an  immediate 
examination  of  the  unknown  charges  against  her,  and 
frankly  related  the  present  condition  of  her  uncle. 


A    STORY   OP   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  215 

She  was  told  that  she  must  remain  in  Eavenwood  until 
she  could  have  a  regular  hearing.  She  then  asked  that 
she  might  be  permitted  to  stay  at  the  residence  of  her 
friend,  Mrs.  Dowell,  and  finally  gained  a  reluctant  con- 
sent. 

She  was  given  a  room  on  the  second  floor,  to  which 
there  was  but  one  entrance,  where  a  guard  was  placed,  in 
order  to  prevent  her  escape.  She  was  told  she  must  re- 
main here  until  some  time  the  next  day,  when  she  would 
be  taken  before  the  same  Provost  Marshal. 

As  soon  as  things  were  quiet,  Yenie  began  to  consider 
how  she  might  escape.  A  guard  was  at  the  door,  and  she 
did  not  sujDpose  they  would  be  removed.  She  next  exam- 
ined the  windows,  but  they  were  so  high  that  she  could 
not  possibly  reach  the  ground  below.  Weary,  care-worn 
and  troubled,  she  finally  lay  down  to  sleep,  but  she  was  so 
much  excited,  she  could  not  enjoy  this  luxury. 

Some  time  in  the  after  part  of  the  night,  she  heard  the 
window  sash  raised,  and  saw  a  man's  face  by  the  light  of 
the  moon.  She  sprang  up,  much  alarmed ;  but  the  next 
moment  a  voice  whispered : 

"  No  danger  —  Pat  Megram." 

She  went  to  the  window,  and  found  that  he  stood  on  a 
ladder  he  had  planted  against  the  dwelling.  She  hastily 
descended  to  the  ground,  and  then  silently  followed  the 
Irishman  to  an  unfrequented  portion  of  the  village,  where 
he  pointed  out  to  her  Zep,  her  favorite  animal,  assisted 
her  into  the  saddle,  and  then  mounted  another  horse.  They 
now  easily  evaded  the  pickets,  passed  through  a  dense 
forest,  and,  after  a  short  ride,  reached  the  residence  of 
Thomas  McKim,  a  well-known  Southern  gentleman.  Here 
they  aroused  the  family,  and  made  known  the  cause  of  this 
unreasonable  visit.  As  soon  as  Mr.  McKim  learned  Yenie's 
condition,  he  proposed  sending  his  son  George,  a  sprightly 
youth,  to  accompany  her  across  the  mountains,  and  Patrick 
Megram  mounted  his  horse,  and  set  out  again  for  "Chola," 
where  his  services  were  demanded. 


216 


THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 


It  was  near  da^'light  before  George  McKim  and  Yenie 
were  ready  to  proceed  on  their  journey".  They  were  both 
well  mounted,  and  rode  on  rapidly  for  more  than  an  hour 
without  seeing  or  hearing  of  the  enemy,  when  they  met 
a  Mr.  Eush,  a  well-known  and  aged  individual,  who  in- 
formed them  that  a  band  of  Federals  had  preceded  them, 
and  were  in  pursuit  of  some  lady  that  had  escaped  from 
Kavenwood. 

"Whilst  they  were  considering  what  course  they  would 
pursue,  George  spied  a  company  of  blue  coats  advanc- 
ing.    He  turned  to  Yenie,  and  said,  hastily  : 

'•'  There  come  the  Yankees.  Take  that  cross  road  which 
will  lead  to  Hillsburg,  and  make  Zep  do  his  best.  I  will 
remain  here  and  detain  them  as  long  as  possible." 

Yenie  only  had  time  to  disappear  over  the  brow  of  the 
hill,  when  the  Yankees  reached  George  McKim,  and  halt- 
ed. At  the  same  moment,  the  leader  of  the  band  exclaim- 
ed, in  a  savage  tone : 

"Where  is  that  lady?" 

"  She  went  down  the  road,"  replied  George,  quietly. 

"What  road?  —  answer  quick,"  he  cried,  with  an  oath. 

George  purposely  touched  his  sj^irited  animal  with  the 
spur,  in  order  to  evade  an  immediate  answer. 

"  Who  was  that  lady  ?  "  repeated  the  officer,  in  an  im- 
patient tone. 

Again  George  caused  his  horse  to  make  a  sudden  plunge, 
and  it  appeared  to  require  all  his  efforts  to  manage  the 
unruly  animal. 

"I  do  not  remember  her  name,"  said  Mr.  Eush,  truth- 
fully. 

"  Do  you  know  a  young  man  called  George  McKim, 
some  twenty  or  twenty-five  years  of  age?" 

"  Xo  one  of  that  age,"  replied  George. 

"  Of  any  other  age  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  youth  ;  "  there  is  old  uncle  George 
McKim,  as  everybody  calls  him,  and  then  there  is  little 
George." 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  217 

"Perhaps  little  George  is  the  one.  Would  you  know 
him?" 

"  I  think  I  would." 

"Is  he  with  that  lady?" 
"  "  No ;  she  is  alone." 

"  What  was  her  name?  " 

"Yenie  —  Yenie  Ardin." 

"She  is  the  lady  we  wish  to  see ;"  and  then  added,  hur- 
riedly :  "  which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

"  Down  the  road,"  said  George. 

"What  road?" 

Again  George  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur,  and  it 
required  some  seconds  to  bring  it  into  subjection. 

"  What  road?  "  cried  the  officer,  with  a  fierce  oath,  and 
a  threatening  gesture. 

George  saw  it  would  be  dangerous  to  parley  any  longer, 
and  correctly  answered  the  question. 

The  Yankees  set  out  in  pursuit,  and  George  watched 
them  until  they  had  passed  over  the  brow  of  the  hill,  when 
he  immediately  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  vowing  that  he 
would  follow  another  path,  and  first  reach  Hillsburg. 

Yenie  rode  slow  some  distance,  fearing  she  would  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  Federals,  and  cause  an  imme- 
diate pursuit,  then  gave  Zep  the  reins,  and  proceeded  at  an 
alarming  speed.  She  had  travelled  in  this  manner  about 
four  miles,  when  she  perceived  the  enemy  in  her  rear, 
some  of  whom  were  evidently  well  mounted.  The  race 
now  began  in  earnest.  She  went  flying  past  farm  and 
country  seat,  over  hill  and  valley,  followed  by  the  blue 
coats,  yelling  like  a  pack  of  blood-hounds,  sure  of  their 
prey,  evidently  determined  not  to  be  baflled  by  a  feeble 
woman. 

She  soon  reached  Hillsburg,  and  went  dashing  down  its 
principal  street,  to  the  great  astonishment  of  its  inhabi- 
tants, some  of  whom  recognized  the  fearless  rider;  and 
after  her  came  George  McKim,  followed  by  a  number  of 
10 


218  THE   SUNNT  LAND; 

Yankees,  spurring  their  foaming  steeds,  cursing,  swearing 
and  yelling,  like  so  many  incarnate  fiends,  in  human 
shape. 

The  enemy  finally  grew  weary  of  the  chase,  and  per- 
mitted them  to  quietly  pursue  their  way  across  the 
mountains. 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  219 


CHAPTEE   XXIX. 

t 

A  Guilty  Conscience. 

A  FEW  weeks  after  the  incidents  related  in  the  previous 
chapters  had  occurred  at  "  Chola,"  Alvin  Croft,  the  would- 
be  assassin,  was  seated  in  the  bar  of  a  second-class  hotel 
in  Knoxville.  He  was  pale,  haggard,  and  care-worn,  and 
actually  seemed  to  have  suddenly  grown  old  and  decrepid. 
He  had  taken  the  law  in  his  own  hands,  for  the  purpose 
of  avenging  the  wrongs  that  had  been  perpetrated  against 
his  father  and  sister,  and  he  now  believed  he  had  succeeded 
in  wreaking  his  fury  on  the  guilty  party. 

In  order  that  he  might  hide  his  designs,  he  had  joined 
the  Union  Guards  under  an  assumed  name.  He  then 
watched  for  a  favorable  opportunity  to  strike  the  intended 
blow,  but  none  occurred  until  they  reached  "  Chola."  On 
that  night  he  saw  Captain  Pike  dismiss  his  attendants  and 
proceed  alone  to  Mr.  Eston's  residence.  He  secretly  fol- 
lowed him  to  that  place  and  awaited  his  return  with  a  re- 
sult already  known  to  the  reader. 

Alvin  Croft  left  ;N"orth  Carolina,  believing  he  had  mur- 
dered the  man  he  despised,  and  avenged  his  relatives.  He 
made  his  escape  to  Knoxville,  where  he  met  Nell  Tucker, 
and  paid  her  the  sum  of  money  he  had  promised  when  the 
deed  should  be  accomplished. 

As  soon  as  he  had  time  for  reflection,  he  became  almost 
distracted  at  the  thought  of  having  murdered  a  fellow, 
creature  in  cold  blood.  He  had  only  killed  a  man  who 
richly  deserved   death  —  a   man  who   had  murdered  his 


220  THE   SUNNY   LAND  ; 

helpless  father  and  innocent  sister  —  a  man  who  had  been 
guilty  of  many  infamous  crimes  —  yet  he  could  not  forget 
that  the  criminal  had  never  been  legally  condemned,  and 
that  the  law  provided  an  authorized  executioner  to  inflict 
the  penalty.  He  had  not  shed  innocent  blood,  yet  he  felt 
that  the  stain  of  blood  was  on  his  soul. 

Alvin  Croft  yet  remained  in  the  bar-room,  wearing  a  sad 
countenance,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor,  when  some 
persons  entered.  A  voice  fell  on  his  ears  which  made  him 
start  to  his  feet.  He  looked  up  wildly  at  the  visitors  and 
saw  a  sight  which  chilled  his  heart's  blood  and  deprived 
him  of  the  power  of  motion.  He  stood  with  his  eyes 
fixed  and  glaring  on  the  exact  image  of  the  man  he  had 
murdered,  in  every  respect,  except  that  his  face  was 
unusually  pale. 

As  Hiram  Pike  drained  the  glass  of  liquor,  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  terrified  Alvin  Croft.  He  replaced  the  tumbler 
on  the  counter  somewhat  nervously,  and  then  advanced 
towards  the  trembling  wretch,  who  had  recently  attempted 
to  take  his  life.  They  gazed  at  each  other  a  few  moments 
in  silence,  and  then  Captain  Pike  said  in  a  low  tone  :  "  I 
wish  to  speak  with  you  alone." 

Alvin  Croft's  lips  moved,  but  his  words  were  inaudible, 
and  the  Captain  continued  in  the  same  quiet  tone,  "  I  pre- 
sume our  conference  will  not  prove  tedious." 

Mr.  Croft,  pale,  trembling,  and  scarcely  knowing  whether 
he  was  in  the  presence  of  the  living  or  the  dead,  mechan- 
ically followed  his  enemy  into  the  adjoining  room,  where 
they  again  faced  each  other,  and  Captain  Pike  continued  : 
"  You  attempted  to  murder  me  like  a  cowardly  assassin." 

'•  I  thought  you  were  dead,"  muttered  the  excited  Mr. 
Croft. 

"You  made  a  poor  job  of  it,"  said  Captain  Pike,  in  a 
sarcastic  tone. 

"  I  am  glad  I  did  not  succeed,"  stammered  out  the  con- 
fused Mr.  Croft. 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  221 

"  A  very  reasonable  statement." 

"  It  is  true." 

"  A  remarkable  assertion." 

"  I  have  myself  suffered  a  thousand  deaths  for  the  deed 
I  thought  I  had  committed." 

"  You  only  have  one  more  to  endure ;  but  tell  me  what 
was  your  motive  ?  " 

"  My  father  and  sister,  whom  — " 

"  Enough,"  said  Hiram  Pike,  interrupting  him  in  the 
midst  of  the  sentence  ;  and  then  continued,  "  your  name 
is " 

"  Alvin  Croft." 

"  Do  you  still  wish  to  execute  vengeance  on  me." 

"iJ^fo!  never." 

"  Now  choose  between  peace  or  war,"  said  Captain  Pike. 
"  I  came  in  here  with  the  determination  of  blowing  out 
your  brains,  but  since  I  have  learned  who  you  are,  you  can 
make  your  choice,  and  I  will  abide  by  your  decision." 

"  Peace,"  said  Alvin  Croft. 

They  shook  hands  cordially,  and  then  went  into  the 
the  bar-room  and  drank  together  as  if  they  had  ever  been 
the  best  of  friends,  after  which  they  separated  with  the 
mutual  understanding,  that  the  past  should  be  buried  in 
the  grave  of  oblivion. 

That  same  afternoon  Captain  Pike  visited  Pennie  Eay. 
mond,  as  he  was  now  accustomed  to  do  every  day.  She 
laughed,  talked,  and  acted  the  agreeable  with  such  perfec- 
tion that  he  gradually  became  cheerful.  He  imagined  that 
she  was  unusually  attractive,  and  was  completely  charmed 
and  captivated. 

Pennie  Eaymond  had  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  winning 
Edward  Ashton,  and  Captain  Pike  knew  that  Lena  was 
lost  to  him  forever.  They  had  experienced  similar  disap- 
pointments, and  were  drawn  towards  each  other  by  the 
peculiar  circumstances  which  all  concurred  to  unite  their 
destinies. 


222  THE   SUNNY  LAND; 

They  flat  together,  conversing  on  topics  that  suited  their 
mutual  tastes,  and  every  now  and  then  Pennie  would  lift 
her  soft,  languid  eyes  and  fix  them  on  his  face.  He  could 
not  resist  the  electrical  influence,  and  began  to  feel  a  fresh 
flame  in  his  breast,  kindled  by  the 

"  Fantastic  tyrant  of  the  amorous  heart." 

"  A  new  ring,"  he  said,  taking  Pennie's  soft  and  plump 
hand  within  his  own. 

He  had  before  experienced  the  magic  of  her  eyes,  but 
oh,  how  much  stronger  was  the  sensation  of  touch !  and 
without  observing  her  reply,  he  continued: 

"  You  possess  a  beautiful  hand." 

"  You  do  not  think  so,"  she  said,  in  her  sweetest  tone. 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  he  replied,  as  he  bestowed  on  it  a  consid- 
erable pressure,  and  then  added  : 

"  You  are  a  sweet,  bewitching  creature." 

"  Idle  words,"  she  said,  languidly. 

"  I  wish  I  had  married  you  when  I  had  an  opportuni- 
ty." 

"  I  thought  you  loved  another." 

"True,"  he  replied,  "and  you  did  likewise.  !N"ow,  I 
propose  that  we  get  married  and  be  happy." 

In  order  to  be  fashionable,  the  "  Belle  of  two  Cities  "  threw 
down  her  head,  looked  at  the  carpet,  and  blushed  like  a 
bashful  maid  of  sixteen. 

"Let  me  have  an  answer  —  a  positive  yes  or  no,"  he 
said  eao-erlv. 

"  Yes,"  she  breathed,  and  Hiram  Pike  instantly  clasped 
the  voluptuous  beauty  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  again 
and  again  with  a  rapturous  delight.  After  the  first  trans- 
ports of  happiness  were  over,  he^continued : 

"  When  shall  we  be  married." 

"  I  leave  that  to  you,"  replied  Pennie. 

"I  propose  next  Wednesday." 

"  That  will  suit  me." 


A   STORY   OP   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  223 

''  I  suggest/'  continued  Hiram,  "  that  we  have  a  private 
affair  in  this  house,  and  only  invite  two  or  three  friends. 
I  will  speak  to  the  Rev.  Obadiah  Stanton  to  be  present." 

"  I  agree  to  this  arrangement,"  replied  Pennie. 

After  all  theprelimiuaries  of  the  intended  marriage  had 
been  settled,  the  Captain  continued  : 

''  As  it  would  not  be  safe  for  me  to  reside  here,  where  I 
have  made  so  many  enemies,  and  as  I  have  no  desire  to 
again  live  in  Cincinnati,  I  propose  that  we  visit  Nashville 
as  soon  as  we  are  married,  then  call  on  your  friends  in 
Ohio,  after  which  we  will  seek  a  new  home  in  the  West.'' 

Pennie  heard  this  announcement  with  evident  surprise 
and  looked  up  with  an  air  of  disappointment.  She  knew 
he  had  owned  a  magnificent  residence  in  the  Queen 
City  of  the  West,  and  was  reputed  wealthy.  She  expected 
to  soon  be  mistress  of  this  mansion,  to  ride  in  a  fine 
carriage,  and  to  live  in  luxurious  ease.  She  imagined  she 
could  easily  prevail  upon  him  to  give  up  such  a  wild  pro- 
ject, and  replied  evasively  that  they  would  first  visit  their 
friends  and  then  consider  the  propriety  of  seeking  a  new 
home." 

Three  long  weary  days  had  passed  away  since  Hiram 
Pike  had  vowed  for  the  second  time  to  wed  the  beautiful 
"  Belle  of  two  Cities,"  and  was  ready  to  pass  through  the 
closing  ceremony.  He  was  now  somewhat  reconciled  to 
the  loss  of  the  fair  Lena,  vainly  imagining  that  the  beau- 
tiful Pennie  could  charm  his  drooping  spirits,  drive  away 
the  pangs  of  a  guilty  conscience,  and  secure  him  against 
the  stalking  phantoms  that  often  disturbed  his  slumbers. 

When  he  had  reached  the  residence  of  Mrs.  Duree,  he 
found  that  the  Rev.  Stanton  had  preceded  him  for  the  pur- 
pose of  performing  his  part  in   the  approaching  marriage. 

Pennie  was  handsomelj^  dressed,  and  received  her  future 
husband  with  a  great  profusion  of  smiles  and  affectionate 
words. 


224  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

"  How  lovely  !  "  exclaimed  Captain  Pike.  "  Why  did  I 
not  secure  you  long  ago  ?  "  he  added,  as  he  surveyed  the 
queenly  beauty. 

"  If  we  had  married  then,"  replied  Pennie,  laughing, 
"  we  would  have  been  deprived  of  the  present  pleasure." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  they  appeared  before  the  par- 
son, who,  according  to  the  custom  of  his  Church,  opened 
with  a  long  prayer,  then  delivered  a  lecture  on  the  insti- 
tution of  marriao-e,  and  enumerated  some  of  the  duties  of 
the  relations  they  were  about  to  assume.  He  finally  came 
to  the  closing  part  of  the  ceremony,  when  they  united 
their  hands,  and  Captain  Pike  made  the  usual  promises. 
The  parson  then  asked  Pennie,  if  she  took  that  man 
to  be  her  lawful  wedded  husband,  and  would  promise 
to  love,  cherish,  and  keep  him  until  death  ;  but  before  she 
had  time  to  reply,  a  tall,  coarse-featured,  and  ungainly 
•woman  dashed  into  the  room  with  a  wild  exclamation, 
made  a  threatening  gesture  at  the  parson  which  effectually 
sealed  his  lips,  and  then"  turned  around  facing  the  couple 
that  stood  on  the  floor.  She  remained  motionless  a  few 
seconds  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  Hiram  Pike,  and  then 
pointed  at  him  her  long,  bony  fingers.  Pennie  sank  back 
into  a  chair,  pale,  trembling,  and  speechless,  and  the  con- 
fused parson  muttered  some  incoherent  words  that  resem- 
bled, "  I  pronounce  you  husband  and  wife." 

"  That  man  is  a  murderer,"  exclaimed  the  coarse-featured 
woman,  in  a  shrill  tone  ;  ''  and  when  you  want  the  evidence, 
call  on  Xell  Tucker." 

She  now  glanced  around  the  room,  then  cast  another 
scornful  look  at  Captain  Pike,  accompanied  by  a  most  ex- 
pressive gesture,  and  glided  out  of  the  house  before  the  in- 
mates had  time  to  recover  from  their  astonishment. 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  225 


CHAPTEE   XXX. 

A  Miserable  Death. 

Let  us  again  revisit  Nashville,  once  the  delightful  home 
of  the  Jacksons,  Polks,  and  similar  spirits  ;  but  now  the 
tyrant-cursed  capital  of  the  proud  "  Yolunteer  State  " — 
the  plaything  of  ignoble  despots — the  resting-place  of 
demons  in  human  shape,  reeking  with  every  crime  that 
ever  disgraced  our  poor,  fallen  and  corrupt  race.  We 
could  weep  over  the  ruined  capital,  and  shed  a  tear  of 
pity  at  the  recollection  of  the  woes  a  noble  and  brave,  but 
down-trodden  people  were  compelled  to  endure,  under  the 
dark  reign  of  bloody  Satraps  and  irres2:)onsible  military 
governors,  who  only  needed  the  addition  of  a  Spanish  In- 
quisition, in  order  to  perfect  their  exquisite  tortures. 

Captain  Pike  and  his  bride  of  three  weeks  had  occupied 
rooms  in  a  second-class  hotel,  in  Nashville,  and  proposed 
to  spend  a  few  days  in  this  chosen  seat  of  a  Military 
Beast.  The  apartment  was  small  and  poorly  furnished  ; 
the  walls  were  dingy,  and  the  bed  curtains  torn  and  soiled. 
A  large  trunk,  partially  unpacked,  stood  open;  a  number 
of  articles  of  dressing  were  piled  on  a  chair,  and  every- 
thing about  the  room  seemed  to  be  in  confusion. 

There  sat  Pennie,  once  the  belle  of  two  cities.  A  cloud 
rested  on  her  brow,  indicating  that  the  sweets  of  wedded 
life  had  proved  delusive  —  that  the  honeymoon  of  pleasure 
had  passed  away  —  that  the  mild  Indian  summer  of  mar- 
ried life  was  over,  and  that  the  storms  of  winter  were  ap- 
proaching. On  the  opposite  side  of  that  apartment  was 
10* 


226  THE   SUNNY   LAND  J 

her  husband,  who  wore  a  dark  and  scowling  countenance, 
and  looked  as  ill-natured  and  grum  as  if  he  had  been  sur- 
feited on  matrimonial  bliss.  He  had  evidently  been  drink- 
ing to  excess,  and  his  whole  appearance  bespoke  a  wretch- 
ed man  in  a  desperate  condition. 

Such  is  marriage  without  love,  and  such  the  happiness 
any  woman  may  expect,  who,  regardless  of  consequences, 
will  sell  themselves  for  gold.  Pennie  had  made  a  sad  but 
common  mistake.  Hiram  Pike  could  not  have  made  her 
happy  and  contented,  with  all  the  wealth  of  modern  Ophir. 
She  would  still  have  remained  ignorant  of  the  bliss  of 
wedded  life,  which  is  reserved  alone  for  pure  hearts,  united 
by  an  unchangeable  love. 

The  words  of  Nell  Tucker,  when  she  interrupted  the 
marriage  ceremony  at  Knoxville,  had  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  Pennie's  mind,  and  on  the  following  day  after  that 
occurrence,  she  managed  to  have  an  interview  with  that 
masculine  virago,  who  took  a  special  pleasure  in  detailing 
the  information  she  possessed,  and,  in  conclusion,  demand- 
ed one  thousand  dollars  as  the  least  sum  that  would  induce 
her  to  remain  quiet,  w^hich,  she  said,  must  be  paid  within 
two  days. 

Captain  Pike  was  utterly  unable  to  raise  this  sum  of 
money.  In  fact,  he  had  not  sufficient  to  set  out  for 
the  West.  He  had  previously  placed  his  business  in  Cin- 
cinnati, in  the  hands  of  an  agent,  and  hoped  to  be  able  to 
save  about  two  thousand  dollars  out  of  the  remainder  of 
his  once  handsome  property.  He  instantly  wrote  to  his 
attorney,  to  remit  funds  to  Nashville  as  soon  as  possible ; 
then  borrowed  a  few  dollars,  and  set  out  for  that  place, 
without  divulging  his  alarming  condition  to  his  wife. 
Here  he  put  up  in  a  second-rate  hotel,  in  the  room  we 
have  described,  and  took  the  further  precaution  to  register 
under  an  assumed  name,  hoping  thereby  to  elude  the  wo- 
man he  so  much  dreaded. 

They  had  now  been  in  the  city  some  days,  during  which 


A    STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL    WAR.  227 

Hiram  Pike  wa3  continually  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 
He  spent  a  great  portion  of  his  time  in  drinking  saloons, 
carousing  with  kindred  spirits,  whilst  his  distressed  and 
unhappy  bride  remained  alone  at  the  boarding  house,  un- 
willing to  let  her  relatives  and  acquaintances  even  know 
that  she  was  then  in  the  city.  She  was  only  anxious  to 
proceed  to  Ohio,  where  she  could  see  her  mother,  and  un- 
burden her  troubled  heart. 

Such  had  been  the  first  three  weeks  of  their  wedded 
life,  and  they  now  sat,  facing  each  other  in  a  manner 
which  bespoke  an  approaching  storm  of  angry  words. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  infernal  sulky  ?  "  said  Cap- 
tain Pike. 

An  angry  reply  sprang  to  Pennie's  lips,  but  she  choked 
it  down  with  flashing  eyes  and  bloodless  lips ;  and  after  a 
few  moments,  she  replied,  as  pleasantly  as  possible : 

"I  am  anxious  to  see  my  mother." 

"  To  see  the  Devil,"  he  cried ;  "  I  am  penniless,  and  have 
not  sufficient  money  to  pay  our  bill  for  board  !  " 

"Send  to  Cincinnati,"  she  said,  quietly,  still  endeavoring 
to  suppress  her  anger. 

"  I  might  as  well  send  to  London,"  he  said,  with  a  fierce 
oath. 

"  You  have  property  there." 

"Not  a  particle,  and  my  attorney  now  writes  that  he 
can't  secure  me  one  dollar.  Here  is  his  letter,  you  can 
read  it ;  and  then  pout  and  cry  as  much  as  you  please. 

She  received  the  letter  mechanically,  and  glanced  over 
its  contents.  When  she  had  finished  perusing  it,  he  con- 
tinued: 

"  Now,  I  suppose,  you  will  admit  that  we  are  a  couple 
of  beggars." 

Pennie  instantly  burst  into  tears.  She  had  married  a 
man  she  disliked,  to  secure  wealth,  and  now  she  knew 
him  to  be  a  penniless  villain,  whose  hands  had  been  stain- 
ed with  innocent  blood. 


228  THE   SUNNY  LAND  J 

"  None  of  your  hysterical  spells,"  said  Hiram,  bitterly. 

Every  fibre  of  her  body  quivered  with  suppressed  pas- 
sion ;  her  eyes  gleamed  with  a  dangerous  light,  and  spark- 
led in  a  manner  that  her  husband  had  never  before  wit- 
nessed. It  was  no  passing  emotion  ;  no  fiction  of  feeling, 
but  the  condensation  of  daily  insults,  gathering  and  swell- 
ing in  her  heart,  until  it  seemed  ready  to  burst.  She 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  said  with  dilated  nostrils,  quivering 
lips  and  burning  cheeks: 

''  You  have  basely  deceived  me." 

"  You  are  an  impudent  huzzy,"  retorted  Hiram  Pike, 
"and  married  me  for  nn^  property." 

She  stood  as  impassive  as  marble,  a  few  moments,  and 
said,  with  a  suffocating  sob  : 

"You  are  a  murderer;  I  hate  — I  despise  you." 

"No  love  lost,"  cried  her  husband,  angrily. 

"  I  have  yoked  myself  to  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye," 
she  added,  passionately. 

"  I  wish  you  were  dead  and  rotten." 

"Perhaps  I  will  share  the  fate  of  your  former  victims." 

"Hold  your  rattle-clap  tongue,  or  I  will  mash  your 
mouth,"  he  exclaimed,  furiously'. 

A  knock  at  the  door  interrupted  this  disgraceful  scene, 
and  the  servant  entered,  bearing  a  note  directed  to  Cap- 
tain Pike,  which  he  instantly  opened  and  said  aloud,  "from 
Lieutenant  Pukey."  He  instantly  left  his  weeping  wife, 
and  proceeded  to  the  parlor,  where  he  found  the  visitor 
pacing  the  room  in  a  most  excited  manner. 

Lieutenant  Fukey  had,  on  that  morning,  reached  Nash- 
ville,  and  accidentally  seeing  Nell  Tucker  on  the  street,  he 
followed  her  through  curiosit}',  until  he  saw  her  enter  the 
office  of  Justice  of  the  Peace.  He  remained  without  until 
she  had  departed,  then  went  in  and  learned  that  she  had 
preferred  charges  against  Hiram  Pike,  describing  his  per- 
son, and  directing  them  to  his  present  residence.  Seeing 
that  these  charges  would  implicate  himself,  he  had  now 
come  to  warn  the  Captain  of  his  danger. 


A    STORY    OP    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  229 

When  Lieutenant  Fukey  had  related  the  information  he 
possessed,  he  added : 

"  You  must  leave  the  city  immediately,  and  avoid  an 
arrest." 

"  I  have  not  the  money !  "  exclaimed  Hiram  Pike,  trem- 
bling like  an  aspen.     "  No,  I  cannot  leave  here." 

"  Unfortunate,"  said  the  Lieutenant. 

"  You  can  assist  me." 

"How?" 

"  Loan  me  some  money." 

"  I  do  not  possess  it,"  said  the  Lieutenant.  "  You  know 
I  had  to  hire  Nell  Tucker  to  keep  a  still  tongue  in  regard 
to  that  old  Eebel  we  slaughtered,  and  I  now  have  nothing 
left  out  of  the  spoils  we  collected  in  East  Tennessee,  ex- 
cept a  few  silver  spoons,  forks,  and  similar  articles.  These 
iive  now  in  my  trunk,  but  I  could  not  cash  them  in  this 
city." 

Captain  Pike  stood  in  speechless  horror  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  said,  in  a  despairing  tone  : 

"I  can  do  nothing,  unless  you  will  assist  me." 

"If  you  remain,  I  must  save  myself  by  flight,"  contin- 
ued the  Lieutenant,  then  added  :  "should  I  be  taken,  I 
will  become  State's  evidence." 

"And  witness  against  me  ?  " 

"  It  would  not  make  your  condition  any  more  desperate. 
Nell  Tucker  can  easily  produce  evidence  against  you  suflS- 
cient  to  hang  fifty  men." 

"I  may  be  arrested  any  moment,"  said  Hiram  Pike, 
with  chattering  teeth. 

"You  may,  indeed,"  replied  Lieutenant  Fukey,  and  I 
must  bid  you  a  hasty  adieu,  and  look  to  my  own  safety." 
Thus  these  two  companions  in  crime  parted,  unable  to 
assist  each  other  in  their  last  extremity,  and  Captain  Pike 
returned  to  his  room,  feeling  that  the  day  of  retribution  had 
arrived.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark,  and  he  mechan- 
ically lighted  the  gas,  and  began  pacing  to  and  fro  across 


230  THE   SUNNY   LAND; 

the  room,  without  so  much  as  casting  a  single  glance  at 
his  unhappy  wife. 

"  Tea  has  been  ready  some  time,"  said  Pennie. 

He  made  no  answer,  and  his  wife,  supposing  he  was  yet 
in  an  angry  mood,  walked  down  to  the  dining  room  alone. 
Here  she  met  some  agreeable  acquaintances,  and  lingered 
at  the  table  much  longer  than  usual,  dreading  again  to 
meet  with  her  irritable  husband. 

Finally  she  left  the  dining-room,  and  slowly  walked 
back  to  her  apartment.  When  near  the  door,  she  heard 
her  husband's  voice,  and  stood  listening,  fearing  that  he 
was  intoxicated. 

"  Oh,  Lord  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  oh !  it  is  terrible  —  dying 
tormented  by  devils,  wracked  by  pain.  Oh,  mercy !  mer- 
cy ! !  mercy ! ! !  " 

Mrs.  Pike  rushed  into  the  room,  and  found  her  husband 
on  the  bed,  enduring  terrible  sufferings. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked,  nervously. 

"  Poisoned  !  poisoned ! !  poisoned  ! !  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  How  —  with  what  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Strychnine  —  I  swallowed  it  —  send  for  the  doctor  ;  " 
and  then  added:  "  be  quick,"  now  much  terrified  at  the 
near  approach  of  death. 

^Pennie  instantly  dispatched  a  servant  for  a  jDhysician, 
and  the  sufferer  continued  to  cry  aloud  for  help,  which 
soon  brought  in  the  alarmed  proprietor  of  the  house,  ac- 
companied by  a  couple  of  clerks. 

"  The  officers !  "  cried  Hiram,  as  they  entered.  "  Away, 
way,  ye  fiends;  too  late  —  too  late — too  late." 

The  doctor  now  came  in,  and  the  moment  Hiram  Pike 
heard  his  name  called,  he  ceased  his  hideous  raving,  and 
begged  him  most  piteously  to  give  him  something  that 
would  speedily  put  an  end  to  his  life. 

"  Oh !  doctor,  doctor,  doctor,  help  me  !  "  he  groaned. 

The  next  moment  he  sprang  up  in  the  bed,  and  pointed 
to  some  imaginary  object. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  231 

"  There  comes  Croft,  followed  by  that  grey-headed  Eeb- 
el;  see  —  there  is  blood  on  his  white  beard!  Ah,  their 
eyeballs,  how  they  glare  at  me !  " 

Thus  he  raved,  until  he  fell  back  into  the  bed  exhausted, 
and  continued  : 

"  Oh !  I  am  dying,  dying,  dying,"  he  cried,  in  piteous 
tones.  "Oh,  the  torments  of  hell — oh,  my  soul's  lost,  eter- 
nally lost!" 

Such  was  the  miserable  end  of  this  man  who  had  open- 
ly violated  the  laws  of  both  God  and  man — "heaping  up 
wrath  against  the  day  of  wrath." 


232  THE   SUNNY    LAND; 


CHAPTER    XXX  I. 

Venie  Ardin's  Lonely  Vigils. 

"We  have  seen  that  Yeuie  Ardin  escaped  from  the  Fed- 
erals, and  succeeded  in  crossing  the  mountains  in  safety. 
She  proceeded  to  the  residence  of  Samuel  Eagleton,  her 
uncle  by  his  first  marriage,  who  lived  in  a  quiet  country- 
seat,  located  on  one  of  the  principal  thoroughfares  in  that 
region. 

He  was  a  plain,  honest,  old-fashioned  farmer,  possessing 
more  than  ordinary  intelligence,  and  much  practical  sense. 

He  was  a  good  neighbor,  kind,  generous,  and  hospitable. 
He  owned  some  excellent  lands,  and,  previous  to  the  war, 
might  have  been  considered  wealthy. 

Yenie's  aunt  had  died  many  years  previous,  and  she  had 
never  heard  much  of  the  family,  but  as  she  had  been 
driven  from  her  home  by  the  invading  army,  she  conclud- 
ed to  pay  them  a  visit.  She  was  received  with  the  utmost 
kindness  by  her  uncle,  and  JVIrs.  Eagleton,  his  second  wife, 
proved  an  agreeable  lady,  and  soon  made  her  unexpected 
visitor  feel  at  home. 

Then  followed  an  exciting  period  of  a  few  weeks.  The 
hand-writing  on  the  wall  had  appeared  in  legible  charac- 
ters, revealing  that  the  fate  of  the  Confederacy  was  sealed 
beyond  all  hope  of  redemption,  and  was  like  a  storm- 
tossed  vessel,  pursued  by  a  relentless  foe,  in  mid  ocean, 
about  to  sink  iuto  the  angry  waters;  whose  mariners 
were  alike  unwilling  to  trust  themselves  to  furious  waves,  or 
to  surrender  to  an  implacable  enemy. 


A   STORY   OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  233 

Such  were  the  feelings  of  a  noble  band  of  warriors  who 
had  long  borne  the  heat  and  burden  of  the  day,  as  the 
fall  of  Eichmond,  and  the  surrender  of  the  last  great 
armies  followed  each  other  in  quick  succession. 

These  were  sad  days  throughout  the  sunny  South,  when 
the  cries  of  a  subjugated  people  were  drowned  by  the 
frantic  populace  of  the  dominant  North ;  when  mourning 
millions  were  mocked  and  derided  by  a  victorious  enemy; 
when  groans,  wails  and  lamentations  of  a  multitude  were 
unheeded  by  a  reckless  majority,  who  were  singing  te 
deums,  and  shouting  hallelujahs  over  the  destruction  of  a 
once  glorious,  but  ruined  republic  ;  when  bloody  coercion 
had  triumphed,  and  subverted  the  rights  of  every  free- 
man ;  when  the  sun  of  liberty  had  set  in  thick  darkness, 
and  the  political  heavens  were  shrouded  in  an  impenetra- 
ble gloom.  No  wonder  Yenie  became  despondent.  She 
was  anxious  to  learn  the  fate  of  Lena  Eston,  whom  she 
had  left  at  the  mercy  of  an  unprincipled  foe.  She  was 
distressed  at  the  universal  ruin  that  had  been  visited  upon 
the  whole  country,  and  troubled  at  the  terrible  suiferings 
which  every  where  existed.  Many  weary  months  had 
passed  away  since  she  had  heard  from  Graham  Hardee, 
and  she  was  at  a  loss  whether  to  number  him  with  the 
living  or  the  dead. 

One  day,  from  morning  until  night,  the  broken  ranks 
of  the  discomfited  Confederates  were  straggling  by  Mr. 
Eagleton's  residence,  in  an  almost  ceaseless  stream.  Many 
of  the  sick,  weary,  and  suffering  called  at  this  place,  and, 
so  far  as  possible,  all  their  wants  were  supplied,  but  their 
stay  was  generally  short,  as  a  victorious  enemy  was  re- 
ported to  be  in  pursuit. 

Yenie  remained  at  her  uncle's  until  late  in  the  afternoon, 
and  then  visited  a  family  residing  a  short  distance  from 
that  place.  Soon  after  she  had  departed,  her  aunt  was 
called  away  to  see  a  sick  neighbor,  who  had  been  taken 
dangerously  ill ;  and  the  slaves,  hearing  that  the  Yankee 


234  THE   SUNNY  LAND  ; 

soldiers  had  arrived  at  a  neighboring  village,  all  suddenly 
disappeared,  so  that  Mr.  Eagleton  alone  remained  at  home. 

He  sat  down  in  his  front  door,  and  began  to  review  the 
retreating  squads  of  war-worn  Confederates  as  they  pass- 
ed his  residence.  Their  forlorn,  weary  and  dejected  ap- 
pearance excited  his  compassionate  heart.  Some  were  al- 
most naked,  many  were  pale,  haggard  and  feeble,  and  all 
seemed  much  dispirited.  If  he  had  possessed  the  means, 
he  would  have  gladly  supplied  all  their  wants,  but  he 
feared  that  his  own  family  would  soon  be  reduced  to  star- 
vation. 

An  ambulance  now  appeared,  containing  some  of  the 
sick,  wounded  and  disabled  soldiers,  accompanied  by  a 
Colonel,  who  rode  up  to  Mr.  Eagleton,  and  said  : 

"  We  have  an  officer  in  this  ambulance  who  was  wound- 
ed this  morninor  durinff  a  skirmish.  It  would  endanorer 
his  life  to  remove  him  a  greater  distance." 

"  Do  you  wish  to  leave  him  here  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Eagle- 
ton. 

"  If  you  please,"  continued  the  Confederate.  "  He  is  a 
gallant  officer,  that  has  passed  through  many  battles.  He 
had  the  misfortune  to  be  captured,  and  recently  returned 
from  Johnson's  Island." 

"  I  have  not  much,"  replied  Mr.  Eagleton,  "  and  I  will 
have  less  when  the  Yankees  reach  this  neighborhood;  but 
I  would  divide  my  last  cake  with  a  Confederate  soldier." 

As  the  wounded  officer  was  carried  into  the  house,  he 
continued : 

"  The  shot  he  received  was  not  serious,  but  his  horse 
was  killed  at  the  same  time,  and  he  was  thrown  against 
some  rocks.  His  head  is  considerably  bruised,  and  he  ap- 
pears to  be  somewhat  deranged." 

As  soon  as  the  Confederates  had  departed,  Mr.  Eagle- 
ton went  to  the  bedside,  and  began  to  examine  the  wound- 
ed Major. 

"  What  shall  I  do,"  he  said.     "  There  is  not  a  human 


A    STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  235 

being  on  the  plantation  that  I  can  send  for  a  physician. 
The  poor  fellow  will  die,  if  something  is  not  done  for  him 
immediately." 

When  he  had  finished  his  soliloquy,  he  walked  to  the 
door,  and  met  Yenie  Ardin  coming  in. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said. 

''Are  you  alone?  " 

"  There  is  no  one  here  but  a  wounded  soldier,  a  rebel 
officer,  who  has  received  a  contusion  on  the  head.  He  is 
bad  off,  and  I  will  leave  him  in  your  care  and  go  after  the 
doctor." 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  asked  Yenie. 

"  Some  Major;  I  did  not  hear  his  name,"  he  said,  as  he 
hastily  passed  on,  determined  to  find  a  physician  as  soon 
as  possible. 

Yenie  entered  the  room  where  the  wounded  Confeder- 
ate lay.  It  was  beginning  to  grow  dark,  and  she  could 
not  see  the  features  of  the  sufferer.  She  gathered  up  a 
match,  struck  a  light,  and  was  about  to  apply  it  to  the 
wick  of  a  lamp,  when  a  groan,  and  some  incoherent  words 
startled  her  in  a  singular  manner.  There  was  something 
about  that  voice  which  seemed  familiar,  which  awoke  the 
memory  of  the  past,  and  caused  the  blood  to  course 
through  her  veins  with  increased  velocity, 

•'  I  must  have  been  mistaken,"  she  thought,  as  she  pro- 
ceeded to  adjust  the  lamp.  "  It  was  only  a  similar  voice, 
for  Graham  Hardee  is  not  here,  and  perhaps  not  alive." 

Again  the  sufferer  moaned,  and  his  words  became  more 
distinct.  She  imagined  she  heard  her  own  name  pro- 
nounced in  mournful  accents.  She  gathered  up  the  lamp 
with  a  trembling  hand,  rushed  to  the  bedside,  and  there 
lay  Graham  Hardee,  now  wounded,  suffering  and  de- 
ranged. 

She  kissed  his  pale  brow,  smoothed  back  the  matted 
hair  from  his  forehead,  and  the  next  moment  observ- 
ed the  blood  on  his  garments.     She  instantly  recalled  the 


236  THE    SUNNY    LAND; 

words  the  mountain  sibjl  had  spoken  long  before  that 
time,  and  rej^eated  her  prophecy  :  "  You  will  shed  tears, 
many  bitter  tears,"  and  then  concluded  with  the  exclaim- 
ation,  ''  blood  I    blood  !  " 

Mr.  Eagleton  now  came  in  with  the  physician,  who  ex- 
amined the  sufferer's  wounds,  pronounced  his  case  some- 
what critical,  administered  some  remedies,  and  then  began 
^o  talk  about  a  blow  ab  extra,  which  he  feared  had  com- 
pressed DURA  MATER,  He  referred  to  the  probable  con- 
sequences SECUNDUM  NATURUM,  and  appended  a  long  list 
of  medical  terms,  which  were  all  nonsense  to  the  honest 
farmer,  who  could  not  see  the  use  of  sj)eaking  in  an  un- 
known language. 

The  doctor's  learned  phrases  were  here  interrupted  by 
the  restless  patient,  who  began  to  mutter  and  moan  so 
loud  as  to  attract  his  attention. 

"  Brain  fever,"  said  the  physician,  the  first  intelligent 
words  he  had  used  for  some  time,  and  then  added  :  "  He 
will  be  raving  like  a  madman  before  morning." 

They  were  all  silent  a  few  moments,  when  the  doctor 
continued : 

"  I  must  now  leave  you,  and  visit  some  more  patients. 
This  is  a  horrible  time,  bellum  internecinum  ;  a  murder- 
ous war,  BELLUM  lethale.  After  having  thus  enlighten- 
ed Mr.  Eagleton,  he  took  his  departure,  conjugating  an 
irregular  Greek  verb,  in  order  to  keep  his  nerves  quiet, 
and  drive  out  of  his  mind  all  thoughts  of  the  Yankee  in- 
vaders. 

As  Mrs.  Eagleton  did  not  return  that  night,  Yenie 
watched  with  her  uncle  at  the  bedside  of  the  wounded 
officer,  until  near  midnight,  when  that  aged  gentleman 
lay  down  on  the  sofa  to  rest,  and  soon  fell  into  a  deep 
sleep.  She  remained  with  Graham  Hardee,  who  was  evi- 
dently growing  worse  hour  after  hour,  and  with  her  own 
hands  moisted  his  parched  lips,  soothed  his  feverish  brow, 
and  administered  the  prescribed  remedies.     He  lay  in  a 


A    STORY    OF   THE   CRUEL   WAR.  237 

deep  stupor  some  time,  and  then  appeared  to  be  partially 
aroused.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  looked  at  Yenie  with  a 
dull,  vacant  stare. 

"  Do  you  know  me  ?  "  she  inquired. 

A  smile  played  over  his  flushed  face  a  moment,  and  then 
died  away. 

"  You  do  not  remember  me  ?  "  she  continued. 

Again  he  looked  at  her  for  a  few  seconds  with  a  strange 
glare,  and  then  his  ej^elids  closed. 

She  sank  back  into  the  chair,  and  indulged  in  many ' 
painful  reflections.  "  Perhaps  he  will  die,"  she  said,  bit- 
terly, "  and  never  recognize  me,  and  never  know  how  well 
he  has  been  loved.  Perhaps  this  night  will  put  an  end  to 
the  brightest  dream  of  my  existence."  Many  were  the 
bitter  tears  she  shed  as  she  passed  her  lonely  vigils 
watching  by  the  couch  of  the  wounded  Confederate. 

Major  Hardee  had  undergone  many  hardships  in  the 
array,  and  had  recently  endured  a  long  term  in  a  miserable 
Yankee  prison  ;  yet  he  possessed  a  vigorous  constitution. 
His  system  soon  rallied  ;  he  began  to  improve,  and  in  a 
few  days  he  was  able  to  leave  his  couch  and  take  some 
light  exercise  in  the  open  air. 

He  was  exceedingly  grateful  to  Yenie  for  her  kindness, 
yet  he  sincerely  wished  they  had  never  again  met.  He 
loved  her  with  the  warmest  affections  of  his  heart,  yet  he 
believed  that  it  was  all  in  vain.  He  was  happy  when  he 
could  listen  to  her  musical  voice,  watch  her  soul-lit  face, 
and  bask  in  the  sunshine  of  her  smiles,  yet  he  imagined 
they  must  soon  part  forever. 

One  beautiful  May  day  they  strolled  out  together,  and 
followed  the  highway,  where  the  fences  had  been  burned, 
and  the  fields  laid  waste,  by  invading  armies  :  but  the 
sun  was  shining  brightly,  and  the  trees  beginning  to  put 
forth  their  tender  leaves. 

"How  lovely  is  the  spring  of  the  year,"  said  Yenie. 

*'  Beautiful !  "  replied  Graham. 


238  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 

"  The  most  delightful  season, "  she  continued,  "  and  a  fit 
emblem  of  our  changeable  lives/' 

"  A  few  days  ago,  our  broken  and  dispirited  ranks  were 
retreating  past,  pressed  by  a  victorious  enemy  :  the  whole 
country  was  laid  waste,  and  our  native  land  seemed 
doomed  to  eternal  desolation ;  but  now  all  nature  begins 
to  put  on  her  gay  attire,  reminding  us  that  there  is  a 
brighter  future." 

"The  Sunny  South,"  said  Yenie,  "may  yet  become  the 
garden-spot  of  the  world." 

"  It  will,"  replied  Graham,  "  sooner  or  later,  but  I  am 
fearful  we  will  first  endure  a  long  period  of  oppression. 
Should  the  dominant  faction  of  the  Xorth  suffer  us  to 
quietly  resume  our  relations  with  the  general  government, 
and  cease  to  meddle  with  our  domestic  affairs,  we  would 
soon  become  prosperous;  but  if  they  are  governed  by 
prejudice,  hatred,  malice,  and  ill-will,  and  attempt  to  make 
the  freedmen  our  equals,  we  may  expect  a  long  reign  of 
desolation,  anarchy,  and  confusion.  Such  a  policy  would 
produce  a  bitter  struggle,  blight  all  hopes  of  future  pros- 
perity, and  finally  result  in  a  war  of  extermination." 

"  The  South  has  suffered  much,  and  lost  everything," 
said  Yenie. 

"Yes,"  he  continued,  gloomily,  "  sorrow  has  found  its 
way  deep  into  every  household,  and  we  are,  to-day,  an  af- 
flicted, desolate  and  bereaved  people.  Suffering  was  not 
confined  to  the  pale,  sad,  care-worn  veteran, 

*  As  he  lay  on  his  pallet  of  straw, 
By  the  wolf-scarring  faggot  that  guarded  the  slain,' 

for,  as  the  war  rolled  on,  tribulations  thickened,  and  soon 
reached  a  multitude,  who,  until  then,  had  never  known 
the  roughness  of  a  summer  wind.  The  angel  of  Death 
has  visited  almost  every  home  circle  ;  rivers  of  tears  have 
been  shed,  and  weeping  thousands  are  now  crushed  into 
the  dust  of  deep  humiliation.     The  wealthiest  men  of  yes- 


A    STORY   OF    THE    CRUEL    WAR.  239 

terday,  are  the  [mendicants  of  to-day !  Our  cities  have 
vanished  before  the  consuming  conflagration,  and  desola- 
tion, distress,  and  despair,  broods  lii^e  a  gloomy  pall  over 
our  distracted  land." 

The  conversation  was  here  interrupted,  by  observing  a 
small  body  of  Confederate  soldiers  resting  by  the  way- 
side. This  was  no  unusual  sight,  for  small  bands  that  had 
been  detained  by  sickness  and  other  causes,  were  passing 
continually,  slowly  wending  their  way  toward  that  endear- 
ing place  called  home. 

Graham  observed,  amongst  them,  an  officer  of  the  rank 
of  Colonel,  who  immediately  attracted  his  attention.  He 
was  wearily  reclining  against  a  log,  and  his  face  was  pale, 
haggard  and  careworn;  As  he  advanced,  the  stranger 
changed  his  position,  so  that  his  entire  features  became 
visible,  and  Graham  sprang  forward,  and  exclaimed : 

"My  old  —  my  long  lost  friend  !  " 

They  now  shook  hands,  and  embraced  each  other  with 
all  the  fervor  peculiar  to  their  generous  hearts. 

"  You  are  pale,"  said  Graham. 

"  I  have  long  been  sick  —  but  here  is  Yenie !  much  more 
happiness  than  I  anticipated." 

Yenie  welcomed  the  friend  of  other  days :  after  which 
they  all  sat  down  together,  and  joined  in  a  quiet  conversa- 
tion. 

"Where  is  the  'Belle  of  the  Mountains!'"  asked  Ed- 
ward. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  replied  Yenie.  "  I  have  been  expect- 
ing her  to  join  me  at  this  place,  but  I  suppose  she  has  con- 
cluded to  remain  at  'Chola.'" 

*'Mr.  Eston  is  dead,"  said  Graham. 

"  When  did  that  occur?"  he  asked,  solemnly. 

"A  short  time  ago  " 

"  Many  of  our  friends  are  no  more,"  he  continued.  "  Al- 
most every  family  can  point  to  a  chair,  made  vacant  by 
this  cruel  war." 


240  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

As  they  proceeded  to  the  house,  Edward  Ashton  related 
some  of  his  adventures  in  South  Carolina,  before  he  was 
taken  sick,  and  then  gave  some  idea  of  his  sufferings,  as  he 
made  his  way  to  that  point  without  money,  amongst  an 
impoverished  people  who  were  not  able  to  lend  him  any 
assistance. 

Edward,  being  fatigued,  weary,  and  worn  out,  retired 
early,  accompanied  by  his  friend.  As  soon  as  they  were 
alone,  G-raham  said  : 

*'  You  spoke  of  having  heard  from  jS'ashville  recently." 

"Yes,"  replied  Edward,  "  I  have  late  intelligence." 

'*  All  our  friends  are  well." 

"All  that  are  living;  some  are  dead." 

"  Those  in  the  army." 

"  Death  has  found  other  victims." 

"  "Who  ?  "  inquired  Graham,  anxiously. 

"Jennie  Wilson  !  " 

The  moment  her  name  was  pronounced,  Graham  threw 
himself  back  into  a  chair,  and  sorrow  marked  every  linea- 
ment of  his  face. 

"  Her  last  words  were  of  you,"  continued  Edward. 

"  I  was  not  worthy  of  that  pure,  noble  and  affectionate 
girL  She  was  an  angel  of  devotion,  too  pure  for  earth, 
and  has  departed  to  a  brighter  home,  where  the  shock  of 
war,  and  the  rude  blasts  of  this  world,  will  no  more  dis- 
turb her  repose." 

The  war-worn  soldier,  whose  heart  had  been  hardened 
by  the  misery  he  had  endured,  by  the  horrors  of  so  many 
battle-fields,  now  bowed  his  head  in  grief,  and  melted  into 
tears,  at  the  remembrance  of  the  tender,  loving,  and  devoted 
girl,  that  had  first  called  forth  the  affections  of  his  heart. 
It  was  to  him  a  sad  thought  that  he  would  see  her  face 
no  more  forever. 


A    STORY   OF   THE    CRUEL   WAR.  241 


CHAPTEE   XXXII. 

The  Conclusion. 

Lena  Eston  did  not  feel  safe  at  "Chola/'  and  concluded 
to  leave  Patrick  Megram  in  charge  of  the  premises,  and  to 
seek  some  quiet  retreat  until  the  storm  of  invasion  had 
passed  away.  She  wished  to  follow  her  cousin,  but  having 
no  one  to  accompany  her,  she  proceeded  with  some  ac- 
quaintances to  Greenville. 

She  did  not  long  remain  contented  at  this  point.  As 
the  closing  events  of  the  war  followed  each  other  with 
startling  rapidity,  she  became  restless  and  anxious  to  hear 
from  her  friends.  She  finally  returned  to  "  Caesar's  Head ,'' 
where  she  decided  to  continue  a  few  days. 

Here  Lena  often  met  with  Confederate  soldiers  who  were 
endeavoring  to^  reach  home,  and  heard  from  them  many 
conflicting  rumors  in  regard  to  Edward  Ashton.  They 
all  agreed  that  he  had  been  promoted  to  the  grade  of  Col- 
onel, but  beyond  this  all  was  vague  and  uncertain.  Some 
said  he  had  been  wounded  ;  some  thought  that  he  was 
behind  with  the  sick,  and  others  declared  he  was  then  on 
his  way  to  jSTashville. 

One  day  a  Confederate  officer  arrived  at  "  Caesar's  Head," 
and,  in  the  presence  of  a  number  of  visitors,  Lena  inquired 
if  he  had  ever  met  with  Edward  Ashton. 

"Colonel  Ashton,"  he  replied  ;  "I  knew  him  well  —  he 
did  not  live  long  to  enjoy  his  promotion  ;   he  fell  in  one  of 
the  last  engagements  of  the  war." 
11 


242  THE    SUNNY   LAND; 

Lena  heard  no  more,  for  she  sank  back  unconsciously 
on  the  sofa.  As  soon  as  she  had  partially  recovered  from 
the  first  shock,  she  remembered  that  curious  eyes  were 
upon  her,  and  returned  to  her  own  apartment,  a  prey  to 
the  deepest  anguish. 

"We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  how  much  she  now 
endured.  "Words  could  never  express  the  depth  of  her 
misery.  It  was  the  darkest  hour  of  her  existence.  The 
last  expectation  of  future  happiness  had  been  blighted,  and 
all  was  dark,  dreary,  and  hopeless. 

One  day  when  the  sun  was  shining  brightly,  Lena  again 
visited  that  promontory  of  towering  rocks  known  as 
"  Caesar's  Head,"  and  sat  down  alone  on  the  verge  of  the 
vast  precipice,  where  she  had  spent  some  haj^py  hours 
with  one  she  never  expected  to  meet  again.  The  fairest 
scenes  of  nature  were  spread  out  before  her  eyes,  bnt  these 
could  not  charm  her  troubled  spirit.  jS'othing  could  woo 
her  from  the  melancholy  recollections  of  the  past.  The 
grief  of  years  seemed  to  be  concentrated  in  her  desolate 
heart,  and  she  felt  an  aching  void  within,  which  no  other 
image  could  ever  fill.  She  wept  many  bitter  tears,  and  then 
believed  that  no  joy  of  earth  could  ever  afford  her  pleas- 
ure. 

An  hour  passed  away.     The  shades  of  evening  gathered 
around.     The   declining  sun  was  casting  its  last  golden 
rays  over  the  lofty  peaks  of  the  surrounding  mountains 
but  Lena  yet  remained  seated  on  the  projecting  rock  like 
an  enthroned  statue  of  sorrow.     She  had  ceased  to  weep 

"  Tears  of  bitterness  wringing  from  the  breaking  heart," 

but  a  deep,  lasting,  and  unutterable  misery  rested  on  her 
weary  soul. 

Suddenly  mingled  voices  fell  upon  her  ears.     She  arose 
turned  around,  and  her  eyes  fell  on  the  pale  features  of 
Edward  Ashton,     He  stood   motionless,  gazing  into  the 
deep  abyss  before  him,  and  for  a  moment  seemed  to  her 


A   STORY    OF   THE    CRUEL    WAR.  243 

an  apparition  of  the  dead.  She  threw  up  her  arms  wildly 
and  half  shrieked  his  name.  A  moment  afterwards  Col. 
Ashton  moved  towards  the  astonished  Lena,  followed  by 
Graham  Hardee  and  Yenie  Ardin.  The  broken  circle  af- 
ter so  many  years  of  suffering  was  again  complete.  It 
was  indeed  a  happy  reunion  of  kindred  spirits. 

*****  :**# 

At  the  close  of  the  following  day,  Joseph  I^ewell  sat 
alone  in  his  piazza,  at  "Laurel  Hill,"  thinking  of  the  des- 
olation of  the  war,  when  his  reflections  were  interrupted 
by  the  appearance  of  a  family  carriage.  He  walked  out 
to  meet  his  visitors,  when  he  was  greeted  by  a  familiar 
voice : 

"  How  are  jou,  uncle  Joseph  ?  " 

"  Graham  Hardee,  as  I  live,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  how  you 
have  changed ! " 

"  Miss  Ardin,"  said  Graham,  as  he  assisted  Yenie  to 
alight. 

"  We  have  met  before,"  said  Mr.  [N'ewell,  and  then  con- 
tinued :  "here  is  Edward  Ashton  and  Miss  'Eston.  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  —  all  welcome  to  'Laurel  Hill.'" 

The  party  now  entered  the  house,  where  they  were  met 
by  Mrs.  Newell,  a  lady  well  calculated  to  make  all  her 
visitors  feel  at  home. 

"  How  have  you  fared  during  the  war  ?  "  said  Graham 
to  Mr.  ISTewell. 

"Bad  enough,"  he  replied,  "  but  better  than  most  of  my 
neighbors.  Almost  every  family  in  this  vicinity  mourns 
the  loss  of  one  or  more  sons,  and  some  of  them  have  been 
reduced  from  affluence  to  penury." 

"  What  became  of  your  slaves?  " 

"  All  gone,  except  a  few  that  always  were  a  dead  ex- 
pense. If  I  had  the  capital  returned  which  was  invested 
in  them,  I  would  not  be  much  damaged  by  their  disap- 
pearance. The  Yankees  stole  enough  from  me  to  feed 
them  two  or  three  years,  and  I  hope  the  colored  people 
will  get  the  benefit  of  it." 


244  THE    SUNNY   LAND  J 

"  How  do  the  freedmen  act  ?  " 

"Yery  well,"  he  replied,  "considering,  and  would  do 
much  better  if  the  white  trash  —  Yankee  adventurers  — 
and  the  whole  generation  of  carpet  baggers^  could  be  kept 
out  of  the  South." 

"  They  wish  to  make  political  capital  out  of  the  Freed- 
men, and  are  leading  them  to  destruction." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Newell ;  "  these  pretended  friends  of 
the  poor  African,  are  the  scum  of  creation,  and  if  they 
continue  their  operations,  we  will  soon  have  a  war  of  ex- 
termination. The  two  races  cannot  live  together,  on  any 
terms  of  equality." 

On  the  following  morning  this  party,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Newell  and  his  lady,  set  out  for  "  Chola,"  where  they 
found  Patrick  Megram  presiding  over  the  premises  with 
all  the  care,  ease  and  dignity  imaginable.  He  had  baffled 
the  Yankees,  preserved  the  remainder  of  the  property,  and 
kept  every  thing  in  order  during  Lena's  absence.  No  one 
appeared  to  enjoy  this  happy  re-unioh  of  long  separated 
friends  more  than  the  devoted  Irishman. 

•If  i*  t*  *!*  *•*  •1* 

Eeader,  you  may  anticipate  the  conclusion  of  our  story. 
Pennie  Eaymond,  the  unhappy  bride  of  a  few  weeks,  re- 
turned penniless  to  her  Northern  home,  having  learned 
that  beauty  without  moral  rectitude,  is  worthless.  Nell 
Tucker,  finding  that  she  was  cheated  out  of  the  vengeance 
she  had  anticipated,  revisited  the  haunts  of  vice  in  the 
Queen  City,  where  she  soon  perished  miserably  within 
hearing  of  a  political  Church.  No  one  there  cared  for  her 
soul,  but  they  called  a  meeting  of  the  faithful,  and 
adopted  resolutions,  pronouncing  Hiram  Pike  a  saint  in 
heaven,  and  declaring  that  he  fell  in  harness,  fighting  the 
battles  of  the  Lord. 

Marvel  Puffaway,  having  been  released  from  a  Southern 
prison,  returned  to  Cincinnati,  thoroughly  reformed,  as  to 
his  inebriate   habits.      When  he  first  reached   home,    he 


A    STORY    OF    THE    CRUEL   WAR.  245 

made  a  most  egregious  mistake  by  stating  that  the  Con- 
federates had  treated  himself  and  his  fellow  prisoners  as 
well  as  could  have  been  expected,  when  their  armies  were 
in  a  starving  condition,  and  insinuated  that  his  own  Gov- 
ernment alone  was  responsible  for  their  suffering,  having  re- 
fused a  fair  exchange ;  but  his  radical  friends  soon  gave  him 
to  understand  that  such  a  representation  of  facts  was  inad- 
visable. He  saw  that  he  was  wrong,  and  went  to  work, 
in  order  to  repair  the  damage.  By  consulting  a  few  lying 
publications,  he  was  enabled  to  manufacture  a  horrible 
story,  which  soon  found  its  way  into  the  press,  and  yet 
makes  the  blood  of  the  Northern  people  boil  on  the  eve 
of  every  important  election. 

Campbell  Fukey  also  came  back  to  the  Queen  City, 
where  he  may  yet  be  seen  skulking  along  its  obscure  al- 
leys, and  visiting  its  lowest  dens  of  vice.  He  is  a  degra- 
ded wretch  —  hated,  despised  and  shunned  by  the  most 
abandoned  profligates. 

Annie  Linton  escaped  all  the  snares  of  her  enemies,  and 
yet  resides  with  her  friends  in  the  sunny  South,  happy 
and  contented,  feeling  that  she  did  nothing  more  for  her 
country  than  duty  demanded. 

Mrs.  Duree  soon  became  disgusted  with  the  position  of 
a  school  marm,  and  returned  to  her  native  State,  and  re- 
presented that  she  had  been  abused,  mistreated,  and  driv- 
en from  East  Tennessee.  A  people  remarkable  for  their 
gullibility,  yet  listen  to  her  marvellous  stories  in  regard  to 
Southern  cruelty,  but  she  cannot  hide  from  her  admirers 
that  she  is  a  vicious  and  disappointed  woman.  The 
Eev.  Obadiah  Stanton  is  yet  wandering  about  with  the 
carpet-baggers  in  the  South,  prying  into  other  people's 
business,  associating  with  dusky  companions,  and  preach- 
ing political  sermons,  mingled  with  all  the  venom  peculiar 
to  his  perverted  nature. 

Col.  Ashton  and  Major  Hardee  remained  some  time  at 
"Laurel  Hill,"  and  frequently  visited  the  cousins  at  "Chola." 


246  THE    SUNNY   LAND. 

The  thunder  of  battle  had  ceased,  the  lowering  clouds  of 
war  had  rolled  away,  and  they  could  meet  again  in  the 
pure  sunshine  of  peace,  without  the  harrowing  thought 
that  they  must  soon  part  again,  perhaps  to  meet  no  more 
on  earth. 

One  day  an  unusual  stir  occurred  at  "  Chola."  Patrick 
Megram  appeared  to  be  the  reigning  spirit,  and  all  was 
bustle  and  confusion  throughout  that  stately  mansion. 
At  a  later  hour  invited  guests  began  to  arrive  and  every* 
thing  indicated  that  something  unusual  was  about  to 
transpii'e. 

On  that  day  the  marriage  ceremony  was  twice  repeated 
on  these  premises.  Graham  Hardee  had  long  loved  Yenie 
Ardin,  and  feeling  that  she  would  prove 

"  In  pleasure's  smiles  and  sorrow's  tear, 
The  same  benign,  consoling  dear," 

openly  confessed  his  affection,  and  promised  to  cherish  her 
until  they  should  be  separated  by  death. 

Edward  Ashton  and  Lena  Eston  stood  together  with 
overflowing  hearts,  and  vowed  that  vow  never  to  be 
broken.  When  the  usual  ceremony  was  over,  Edward 
looked  down  at  his  blushing  bride  and  whispered,  "  My 
own,  my  sweet,  my  beautiful  *  Belle  of  the  Mountains.'  " 


TO  A  DEAR   COMFORTER.  247 


C0  K  ^mx  €oxaiotji^x. 


BY  B.  H.  JONES. 


Musing  o'er  my  gloomy  fortune  — 
ThinkiDg  of  a  world  so  drear  — 

Softly  came  thy  spirit-presence, 

Sweetly  whispering  words  of  cheer. 

Falling  like  the  April  sunshine, 
Or  the  rain-drops  on  the  flowers ; 

!N"erving  me  to  more  endurance  — 
Nerving  me  for  trial-hours. 

In  the  far  and  blue  empyrean, 
Ever  with  expanded  wings, 

Stands  a  pure  and  white- winged  angel  — 
Universal  love  he  sings. 

Stands  awaiting  love's  commission, 
And  descending  through  the  air; 

Ne'er  averts  his  face  from  mortal, 
Kneeling  in  the  act  of  prayer. 

If  the  mortal  plead  for  pardon. 
Nestling  closely  to  his  side  — 

Gently  whispereth  the  Evangel, 
Of  the  Sinless  Crucified  : 

"Faith  and  Hope,  and  Love  and  Patience 
Mercy  flowing  as  the  sea. 


248  COL.  WM.  S.  HAWKINS,  OF  TENNESSEE. 

Are  decreed  by  the  eternal : 
Firmly  standeth  the  decree!  " 

S(f,  to  me,  there  comes  a  memory. 
In  the  hour  of  my  despair  : 

Softly  speaking  words  of  comfort, 

Sweetly  whispering,  "Learn  to  bear!  " 

*'  In  the  time  of  Grod's  own  choosing, 
Prison  gates  shall  open  wide  ; 
Then  I  will  await  His  time  — 
Patiently  His  will  abide !  " 


€ol  Millbm  S-  Mafakhts,  ai  Cmtttss^^. 


William  Stewart  Hawkins  was  born  October  2d,  1837, 
at  Triana,  Madison  county,  Alabama.  His  father  was  a 
native  of  Maryland,  having  removed  thence  to  Alabama. 
He  was  a  man  of  brilliant  literary  attainments,  de- 
voted to  music  and  poetry.  He  died  at  an  early  age, 
when  his  son  was  only  ten  months  old,  thus  devolving 
upon  his  widowed  mother,  the  care  and  training  of  the 
future  poet.  Yery  early  in  life  he  exhibited  proofs  of  a 
remarkable  talent,  and  gave  promise  of  those  admirable 
traits  of  character,  and  that  amiability  of  temper,  which 
rendered  him  universally  beloved  through  all  the  varied 
scenes  of  his  after  life. 

His  collegiate  education  was  received  partly  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Nashville,  but  was  completed  at  Bethany  Col- 
lege, West  Virginia,  presided  over  at  the  time  by  the  late 


COL.  WM.  S.  HAWKINS,  OF  TENNESSEE.  249 

lamented,  eminent  and  venerable,  Alexander  Campbell. 
Two  years  of  his  student  life  were  passed  in  the  Military 
Department  of  the  Nashville  University,  at  that  time 
under  the  control  of  Bushrod  Johnson,  afterwards  a  Major 
General,  in  the  Confederate  Army.  He  was  a  short  time 
at  Lebanon  University,  enjoying  the  immediate  tuition  of 
his  uncle,  A.  P.  Stewart,  afterwards  a  Leiut.  G-eneral  in 
the  Confederate  Army.  He  graduated  in  his  twenty-first 
year. 

In  1861,  he  entered  the  cavalry  service  as  a  Lieutenant, 
and  in  January,  1862,  he  was  advanced  to  the  grade  of 
Major.  He  participated  in  the  battles  of  Shiloh,  Corinth, 
Donelson,  Larvegne,  and  Murfreesboro'.  In  July,  1863,  he 
took  charge,  as  Colonel  Commanding,  of  the  Mounted 
Scouts  of  Wheeler's  Corps,  and  on  January  following,  was 
captured  by  a  portion  of  Gen.  Smith's  Division  of  Federal 
Cavalry,  and  confined  as  a  Prisoner  of  War,  at  Camp  Chase, 
where,  for  a  time,  he  was  on  parole  as  one  of  the  Confed- 
erate agents  at  that  post.  His  constant  and  christian  at- 
tention to  the  sufferers  at  the  Prison  Hospital,  greatly  en- 
deared him  to  his  comrades.  His  affability  of  temper,  gen- 
erosity, and  gallantry  of  bearing,  are  particularly  noticea- 
ble in  his  correspondence  with  the  United  States  oflacers 
commanding  the  Prison.  He  was  gifted  with  a  remarkable 
fluency  of  language,  which  lent  a  charm  to  every  expression 
of  his  thoughts,  while  a  wonderfully  retentive  memory,  a 
fondness  for  reading,  and  habits  of  astute  observation  and 
serious  reflection,  furnished  him  materials  for  composition 
in  all  the  departments  of  Literature.  His  grace  of  man- 
ner on  all  occasions,  his  elegance  of  diction,  and  his  en- 
thusiastic adherance  to  truth  and  right,  entitled  him  emi- 
nently to  the  appellation  of  an  eloquent  speaker. 

Immediately  upon  the  close  of  the  war,  he  returned  to 
ISTashville,  where  he  died  November  7th,  1865,  in  the  twen- 
ty ninth  year  of  his  age,  leaving  a  bereaved  widow,  and  a 
little  orphaned  girl  to  mourn  his  irreparable  loss.     This 


250  COL.  WM.  S.  HAWKINS,  OF  TENNESSEE. 

sketch  would  be  incomplete  without  an  allusion  to  the 
crowning  grace  of  his  character,  which  was  an  humble 
faith  in  the  Christian  religion,  a  faith  that  enabled  him  to 
rise  superior  to  the  ills  of  life,  and  look  forward  with  con- 
fident anticipation  to  a  participation  in  the  joys  and  har- 
monies of  Heaven. 

DEAD. 


COL.  WILLIAM   S.  HAWKINS. 

Dead  !  with  no  loving  hand  to  part 

The  soft  hair  back  from  the  pallid  brow. 
Dead  !  and  there  is  no  mourning  heart 

To  follow  the  captive  now. 
Gone  !  from  the  prison,  lone  and  drear, 

With  his  patient  smile  and  his  gentle  ways. 
Gone  !  where  the  jasper  walls  appear, 

And  the  beautiful  Gates  of  Praise. 

Koses  !  that  bloom  by  his  home  in  glee. 

Where  distant  odors  are  sweetly  shed ; 
Let  the  dew  in  each  delicate  chalice  be 

As  tribute  tears  to  the  dead. 
And  song-birds  trill  to  the  throbbing  eve, 

When  the  shadows  are  gathering  dusk  and  dim, 
A  music  to  soothe  the  souls  that  grieve, 

And  a  low  soft  dirge  to  him. 

Comrades  !  who  slept  beside  him  there. 

Where  the  mountain  torrents  brawl  and  roar, 
Will  your  dreams  to-night  by  the  camp  fire's  glare. 

Tell  that  he  comes  no  more  ? 
Ah  !  the  morning  will  shine  with  her  glossy  crown. 

And  the  cheery  and  dimpling  air  for  her  breath, 
And  you  will  not  know  that  his  sun's  gone  down 

In  the  evening  skies  of  death. 

Mother  !  make  room  'mid  your  memories  dear, 
For  one  that  is  sadder  and  sweeter  yet. 

There's  a  new-born  joy  for  thee  up  there, 
Where  the  lone  knows  no  regret. 

The  leaves  of  the  autumn  fall  apace. 


COL.  WM.  S.  HAWKINS,  OF  TENNESSEE.  251 

The  better  to  feed  the  blossoms  of  spring ; 
So  from  thy  life  is  shed  some  grace, 
A  holier  grace  to  bring. 

Sister  1  'twould  wring  your  soul  to  know 

That  the  cheeks  you  have  kissed  are  so  pale  and  thin, 
And  the  fires  gone  out  from  the  eye's  deep  glow, 

Where  such  loving  glance  hath  been. 
But  the  eyes  that  seem  so  glazed  and  dim, 

Are  bright  enough  in  the  courts  above, 
"Where  the  golden  harp  of  the  Seraphim 

Chime  to  the  touch  of  love. 

Maiden  !  upon  whose  heart  to-night 

His  tokens  of  faith  are  fondly  prest ; 
He  waits  for  thee,  'mid  the  Isle  of  Light, 

In  the  mansions  of  the  blest. 
"When  the  summoning  angel  in  splendor  came. 

And  life's  star  sank  in  a  swift  eclipse, 
He  murmured  of  you,  and  your  tender  name 

Seems  yet  on  his  silent  lips. 

Sepulchre  !  thou  shalt  be  holy  ground. 

Since  to  thee  such  peerless  charge  is  given  ; 
Oh  guard  it  well  till  the  heralds  sound 

The  bugle  call  of  Heaven. 
And  Southland  !  tho'  he  fell  not  on  thy  field, 

He  still  has  died  for  thee  and  thine  ; 
Make  his  record  then  on  thy  proudest  shield, 

"Where  the  names  of  thy  truest  shine  ! 


252  FIRST   LOVE. 


Jtrst  f  ofje. 

In  the  blithesome  days  of  boyhood, 

In  the  unforgotten  past ; 
Stamped  upon  my  heart's  fresh  surface, 

Was  an  image  that  shall  last, 
'Twas  a  form  of  girlish  beauty — 

Tresses  auburn  —  eyes  of  blue  ; 
And  a  voice  so  plaintive,  dovelike, 

And  a  heart  so  chaste  and  true. 

And  I  loved  the  little  maiden  j 

I,  a  boy  of  summers  ten, 
"With  such  passion,  wild  and  tender, 

As  one  never  feels  again  ; 
And  the  maiden  loved  the  school-boy, 

Owned  it  by  her  stifled  sighs, 
Trembled  'neath  his  gaze  so  ardent. 

Blushed,  and  drooped  her  tell-tale  eyes. 

Many  were  the  little  tokens. 

Passed  between  the  maid  and  me  ; 
Apples,  peaches,  blushing  berries. 

Slips  of  school-boy  poetry. 
Smiles  were  given  —  gentle  pressures. 

Mute,  yet  eloquent  of  Love ; 
Silken  ringlets  neatly  braided  — 

Pencillings  of  heart  and  dove. 

Often  sat  we  in  the  shadow 
Of  the  great  white  sycamore  ; 

And  I  led  her  through  the  meadow, 
In  the  halcyon  days  of  yore  ; 

Helped  her  to  the  cool  and  "sparkling 
Water  from  the  beech-tree  spring ; 


FIRST    LOVE.  253 

With  a  thrill  of  rapture  swung  her 
In  the  rustic  grape-vine  swing. 

With  my  quaint,  well  sharpened  "  Barlow," 

On  the  beechen's  glossy  rind, 
Carved,  with  studied,  labored  flourish, 

Eudely,  yet  so  well  defined, 
That  to-day  the  mountain  hunter, 

Pausing  in  his  search  for  game, 
Eeads  with  ease  the  rough-edged  letters, — 

The  initials  of  her  name. 

Saw  with  flashing  eyes  the  advances 

Of  my  school-fellow  —  "  John  Ed=*=  "— 
Felt  'twould  be  a  pleasant  pastime, 

To  relieve  him  of  his  head. 
To  our  young  and  ardent  fancy 

Opened  up  a  future  bright, 
When  released  from  laws  parental. 

We  our  marriage  vows  should  plight. 

Thus,  through  many  happy  summers. 

Hand  in  hand  we  moved  along ; 
Eecking  nought  of  the  fierce  trials, 

That  to  older  life  belong ; 
Then  we  parted  —  I  to  ponder 

Over  Academic  lore. 
She  was  left  a  tender  budlet. 

Opening  on  Kanawha's  shore. 

Time  sped  on  ;  and  I,  at  manhood. 

Saw  another  maiden  fair  ; 
Saw,  and  loved,  and  wooed,  and  won  her  — 

Wreathed  the  orange  in  her  hair. 
She  a  wife,  so  fond  and  gentle, 

*  John  Edward  Ligon,  of  Buckingham  county,  Virginia  —  a  rival.     We 
called  him  "John  Ed."    I  have  been  told  that  he  died  many  years  ago. 


254  FIRST  LOVE. 

Makes  my  cup  of  bliss  run  o'er ; 
Never  yet  hath  nobler  woman 
Smoothed  the  path  of  man  below. 

And  the  idol  of  my  boyhood, 

]^ow  a  matron  staid  and  true  ; 
Answers  to  the  name  of  "  Mother^'' 

Peering  into  eyes  of  blue. 
Years  have  fled,  years  five-and-twenty, 

Since  the  maiden  'round  my  way, 
Cast  the  sunshine  of  her  presence, 

That  shall  linger  there  for  aye! 

For  in  hours  of  prison  slumber, 

Float  across  my  dreaming  brain, 
Visions  of  the  little  maiden, 

As  she  floated  round  me  then  ; 
Still  the  same  sweet  girlish  beauty  — 

Tresses  auburn  —  eyes  of  blue  — 
Still  the  voice  so  plaintive  —  dove-like  — 

Still  the  heart  so  chaste  and  true ! 

Sylph-like  'round  my  prison  pillow, 

Glides  she  as  in  olden  time  ; 
Pass  again  the  little  tokens  — 

Written  o'er  the  school-day  rhyme. 
Strange,  it  is ;  yet  monthly,  weekly, 

Dream  I  of  those  boyhood  hours  ; 
Lead  again  the  life  I  lived  then. 

With  the  maiden  'mid  the  flowers  ! 

Such  is  more  than  one's  experience ; 

Toiling  weary  on  our  way. 
Sweetest  joys,  like  April  sunshine. 

Brightest  gild  our  morning  day  j 
At  noontide  of  our  manhood, 

Backward  looking  through  our  tears. 


HOME   AGAIN.  255 


Diamond  points  amid  the  darkness, 
Flash  the  joys  of  early  years  . 

Johnson's  Island,  Ohio,  Jan.,  1865. 


'\omt  %cj^xnl 


LIEUT.    HOWARD. 


Home  again  !  Home  again  ! 

From  Lake  Erie's  shore ; 
And  oh,  'twill  fill  my  soul  with  joy, 

To  meet  my  friends  once  more. 
A  mother  kind,  a  wife,  a  child. 

Await  with  hopes  and  fears. 
That  glorious  hour  with  rapture  wild, 

When  I  shall  dry  their  tears. 

Music  sweet,  music  soft, 

Lingers  'round  the  place  ; 
The  charm  I've  felt  since  childhood  oft, 

No  time  can  e'er  efface. 
I  seek  not  glory,  power  or  wealth, 

Nor  restlessly  to  roam  ; 
Give  me  but  freedom,  peace  and  health, 

To  share  with  those  at  home. 

Kindly  hearts,  kindly  hearts, 

With  mine  in  sympathy. 
Here  beat,  but  yet  my  home  imparts, 

A  deeper  thrill  to  me  ! 


256  THE  PRAYER  OP  THE  SOUTH. 

From  Georgia  and  Yirginia  hear, 
The  shouts  of  victory  come  ; 

Take  courage ;  e'er  another  year, 
"We  all  shall  be  at  home  I 


Clje  ^rag^r  d  tb  .Soixt^. 


BY   REV.  ABRAM    J.  RYAN. 


My  brow  is  bent  beneath  a  heavy  rod ! 
My  face  is  wan  and  white  with  many  woes, 
But  I  will  lift  my  poor,  chained  hands  to  God, 
And  for  my  children  pray,  and  for  my  foes. 
Beside  the  graves  where  thousands  lowly  lie 
I  kneel,  and  weeping  for  each  slaughtered  son, 
I  turn  my  gaze  to  my  own  sunny  sky. 
And  pray,  oh !  Father,  may  Thy  will  be  done ! 

My  heart  is  filled  with  anguish,  deep  and  vast  j 
My  hopes  are  buried  with  my  children's  dust; 
My  joys  have  fled,  my  tears  are  flowing  fast  — 
In  whom,  save  Thee,  our  Father,  shall  I  trust  ? 
Ah !  I  forgot  Thee,  Father,  long  and  oft. 
When  I  was  happy,  rich,  and  proud,  and  free ; 
But  conquered  now,  and  crushed,  I  look  aloft. 
And  sorrow  leads  me.  Father,  back  to  Thee ! 

Amid  the  wrecks  that  mark  the  foeman's  path, 

I  kneel,  and  wailing  o'er  my  glories  gone, 

I  still  each  thought  of  hate,  each  throb  of  wrath, 


THE    PRAYER    OF   THE    SOUTH.  257 

And  whisper,  Father,  let  Thy  will  be  done ! 
Pity  me,  Father  of  the  desolate ! 
Alas  !  my  burdens  are  so  hard  to  bear; 
Look  down  in  mercy  on  my  wretched  fate, 
And  keep  me,  guard  me,  with  Thy  loving  care. 

Pity  me  Father,  for  His  holy  sake. 

Whose  broken  heart  bled  at  the  feet  of  grief, 

That  hearts  of  earth,  wherever  they  shall  break, 

Might  go  to  His,  and  find  a  sure  relief. 

Ah,  me,  how  dark!     Is  this  a  brief  eclipse? 

Or  is  it  night  with  no  to-morrow's  sun  ? 

Oh  !  Father  !  Father !  with  my  pale,  sad  lips, 

And  sadder  heart,  I  pray.  Thy  will  be  done. 

My  homes  are  joyless,  and  a  million  mourn 
Where  many  met  in  joys  forever  flown  ; 
Whose  hearts  were  light,  are  burdened  now  and  lorn ; 
Where  many  smiled,  but  one  is  left  to  mourn. 
And,  ah !  the  widow's  wails,  the  orphan's  cries, 
Are  morning  hymn  and  vesper  chant  to  me : 
And  groans  of  men  and  sounds  of  women's  sighs 
Commingle,  Father,  with  my  prayer  to  thee. 

Beneath  my  feet  ten  thousand  children  dead  — 
Oh  !  how  I  loved  each  known  and  nameless  one; 
Above  their  dust  I  bow  my  crownless  head. 
And  murmur  —  Father,  still  Thy  will  be  done, 
Ah  !  Father,  Thou  didst  deck  my  own  loved  land 
With  all  bright  charms,  and  beautiful  and  fair; 
But  foemen  came,  and,  with  a  ruthless  hand, 
Spread  ruin,  wreck,  and  desolation  there. 

Girdled  with  gloom,  of  all  my  brightness  shorn. 
And  garmented  with  grief,  I  kiss  Thy  rod, 
And  turn  my  face,  with  tears  all  wet  and  worn, 
To  catch  one  smile  of  pity  from  my  God. 


258  THE  PRATER  OP  THE  SOUTH. 

Around  me  blight,  where  all  before  was  bloom, 
And  so  much  lost,  alas !  and  nothing  won  I 
Save  this  — -  that  I  can  lean  on  wreck  and  tomb, 
And  weep,  and  weeping  pray,  Thy  will  be  done. 

And  oh !  'tis  hard  to  say,  but  said,  'tis  sweet ; 
The  words  are  bitter,  but  they  hold  a  balm  — 
A  balm  that  heals  the  wounds  of  my  defeat, 
And  lulls  my  sorrows  into  holy  calm. 
It  is  the  prayer  of  prayers,  and  how  it  brings. 
When  heard  in  Heaven,  peace  and  hope  to  me  ! 
When  Jesus  prayed  it,  did  not  angels'  wings 
Gleam  'mid  the  darkness  of  Gethsemane  ? 

My  children.  Father,  Thy  forgiveness  need ; 
Alas  !  their  hearts  have  only  place  for  tears  ! 
Forgive  them,  Father,  ev'ry  wrongful  deed 
And  ev'ry  sin  of  those  four  bloody  years, 
And  give  them  strength  to  bear  their  boundless  loss, 
And  from  their  hearts  take  every  thought  of  hate  ; 
And  while  they  climb  their  Calvary  with  their  Cross, 
Oh !  help  them,  Father,  to  endure  its  weight. 

And  for  my  dead,  my  Father,  may  I  pray  ? 
Ah !  sighs  may  soothe,  but  prayer  shall  soothe  me  more ! 
I  keep  eternal  watch  above  their  clay ; 
Oh !  rest  their  souls,  my  Father,  I  implore  ! 
Forgive  my  foes  —  they  know  not  what  they  do  — 
Forgive  them  all  the  tears  they  made  me  shed ; 
Forgive  them,  though  my  noblest  sons  they  slew. 
And  bless  them,  though  they  curse  my  poor,  dear  dead. 

Oh !  may  my  woes  be  each  a  carrier-dove, 
With  swift,  white  wings,  that,  bathing  in  my  tears. 
Will  bear  thee,  Father,  all  my  prayers  of  love. 
And  bring  me  peace  in  all  my  doubts  and  fears. 
Father,  I  kneel,  'mid  ruin,  wreck  and  grave  — 


LEE   TO    THE   REAR.  259 

A  desert  waste,  where  all  was  erst  so  fair  — 
And  for  my  children  and  my  foes  I  crave 
Pity  and  pardon  —  Father,  hear  my  prayer  ! 


n  ia  ih  %mx. 


JOHN   R.    THOMPSON. 


Dawn  of  a  pleasant  morning  in  May, 
Broke  through  the  Wilderness,  cool  and  gray, 
While,  perched  in  the  tallest  tree-tops,  the  birds 
Were  carolling  Mendelssohn's  "  Songs  without  words." 

Far,  from  the  haunts  of  men  remote. 
The  brook  brawled  on  with  a  liquid  note, 
And  nature,  all  tranquil  and  lovely,  wore 
The  smile  of  spring,  as  in  Eden,  of  yore. 

Little  by  little,  as  daylight  increased. 

And  deepened  the  roseate  flush  in  the  East  — 

Little  by  little,  did  morning  reveal 

Two  long,  glittering  lines  of  steel ! 

Where  two  hundred  thousand  bayonets  gleam, 
Tij^ped  with  the  light  of  the  earliest  beam, 
And  the  faces  are  sullen  and  grim  to  see, 
In  the  hostile  armies  of  Grant  and  Lee. 

All  of  a  sudden,  ere  rose  the  sun. 
Pealed  on  the  silence,  the  opening  gun  — 
A  little  white  puif  of  smoke  there  came. 
And  anon  the  valley  was  wreathed  in  flame. 


260  LEE   TO   THE  REAR. 

Down  on  the  left  of  the  rebel  lines, 

"Where  a  breastwork  stands  in  a  copse  of  pines, 

Before  the  rebels  their  ranks  can  form, 

The  Yankees  have  carried  the  place  by  storm. 

Stars  and  Stripes  o'er  the  salierrt  wave, 

"Where  many  a  hero  has  found  a  grave, 

And  the  gallant  Confederates  strive  in  vain 

The  ground  they  have  drenched  with  their  blood  to  regain! 

Yet  louder  the  thunder  of  battle  roared  — 
Yet  a  deadlier  fire  on  their  columns  poured  — 
Slaughter,  infernal,  rode  with  despair, 
Furies  twain,  through  the  smoky  air. 

Not  far  off,  in  the  saddle  there  sat, 
A  grey -bearded  man,  with  black  slouch  hat ; 
IS'ot  much  moved  by  the  fire  was  he, 
Calm  and  resolute  Eobert  Lee. 

Quick  and  watchful,  he  kept  his  eye 
On  two  bold  rebel  brigades  close  by  — 
Reserves,  that  were  standing  (and  dying)  at  ease. 
Where  the  tempest  of  wrath  toppled  over  the  trees. 

For  still  with  their  loud,  bull-dog  bay. 
The  Yankee  batteries  blazed  away, 
And  with  every  murderous  second  that  sped 
A  dozen  brave  fellows,  alas !  fell  dead. 


The  grand  old  beard  rode  to  the  space, 
"Where  Death  and  his  victims  stood  face  to  face. 
And  silently  waves  his  old  slouch  hat  — 
A  world  of  meaning  there  was  in  that ! 

"  Follow  me !  Steady !     "We'll  save  the  day !  " 
This  was  what  he  seemed  to  say ; 
And  to  the  light  of  his  glorious  eye 
The  bold  brigades  thus  made  reply : 


LEE    TO   THE   REAR.  261 

"  We'll  go  forward,  but  you  must  go  back  ^'  — 
And  they  moved  not  an  inch  in  the  perilous  track , 
"  Go  to  the  rear,  and  we'll  give  them  a  rout, 
Then  the  sound  of  the  battle  was  lost  in  their  shout. 

Turning  his  bridle,  Eobert  Leo 
Eode  to  the  rear.     Like  the  waves  of  the  sea. 
Bursting  the  dykes  in  their  overflow. 
Madly  his  veterans  dashed  on  the  foe  ; 

And  backward  in  terror  that  foe  was  driven, 
Their  banners  rent  and  their  columns  riven, 
Wherever  the  tide  of  battle  rolled, 
Over  the  Wilderness,  wood  and  wold. 

Sunset,  out  of  a  crimson  sky, 
Streamed  o'er  a  field  of  a  ruddier  dye, 
And  the  brook  ran  on  with  a  purple  stain. 
From  the  blood  of  ten  thousand  foemen  slain. 

Seasons  have  passed  since  that  day  and  year, 
Again  o'er  the  pebbles  the  brook  runs  clear. 
And  the  field  in  a  richer  green  is  drest 
Where  the  dead  of  the  terrible  conflict  rest. 

Hushed  is  the  roll  of  the  rebel  drum. 

The  sabres  are  sheathed,  and  the  cannon  are  dumb ; 

And  Fate,  with  pitiless  hand  has  furled 

The  flag  that  once  challenged  the  gaze  of  the  world. 

But  the  fame  of  the  Wilderness  fight  abides, 
And  down  into  the  history  grandly  rides, 
Calm  and  unmoved,  as  in  battle  he  sat, 
The  grey-bearded  man,  in  the  black  slouch  hat. 


262  LIEUT.    E.    C.    m'CARTHY,    of   LOUISIANA. 


Lieutenant  E.  C.  McCarthy  was  born  of  respectable 
parentage,  in  Limerick,  Ireland,  December  20th,  1840. 
His  father  was  the  proprietor  and  editor  of  the  Limerick 
and  Clare  Examiner^  and  actively  espoused  the  threatened 
Irish  rebellion  of  1848.  He  was  on  intimate  terms  with 
Smith  O'Brien,  Thomas  F.  Meagher,  and  John  Mitchell. 
With  the  failure  of  the  contemplated  rebellion,  the  Lim- 
erick and  Clare  Examiner  went  down,  and  in  December, 
1851,  the  elder  McCarthy  sought  an  asylum  in  the  United 
States,  and  died  at  ]^ew  Orleans  in  October,  1852. 

Prior  to  the  war,  young  McCarthy  resided  in  Algiers, 
Louisiana,  and  was  employed  as  an  Express  Agent.  At 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  he  attached  himself  to  Co.  A, 
30th  regiment,  Louisiana  Yolunteers.  He  was  soon  pro- 
moted to  the  rank  of  Lieutenant,  and  participated  in  the 
battles  of  Baton  Eouge,  Jackson,  Miss.,  Xew  Hope  Church, 
those  of  the  Atlanta  campaign,  under  Gen.  Jos.  E.  John- 
ston, and  those  of  Jonesboro',  Franklin  and  Nashville,  and 
on  the  second  day  of  the  last  named  fight,  December  16th, 
1864,  was  captured  and  sent  to  Johnson's  Island,  where 
he  remained  until  June  21s!t,  1865,  Avhen  he  was  released. 
He  is  now  Agent  for  the  Texas  Express  Company,  and 
his  location  is  Galveston. 

Mr.  McCarthy  is  a  gentleman  of  fine  personal  appear- 
ance and  pleasing  address.  Liberally  endowed  with  that 
quick  and  brilliant  wit  peculiar  to  his  countrymen,  and  of 
a  genial  disposition,  he  was  a  general  favorite  among  the 
prisoners  confined  at  Johnson's  Island. 


THE   FOUR   BROTHERS.  •  263 


^\^t  J'ouT  §r,otIjers. 


[Among  the  first  to  respond  to  the  call  of  Beauregard  in  the  spring  of 
1861,  were  the  four  brothers,  Le  Blanc,  of  St.  Martinsville,  Attakapas. 
One  fell  at  "Shiloh,"  another  died  just  after  the  arrival  of  the  ''Orleans 
Guard  Batallion  "  at  Camp  Moore,  May,  1862.  A  third,  to  whom  the 
following  lines  refer,  died  at  the  same  place  in  Juue,  1862,  and  the  last, 
Edmond,  after  seeing  his  three  dear  brothers  buried,  far  from  their  homes, 
returned  to  Attakapas  on  sick  furlough,  and  died  of  disease  contracted  in 
the  army,  several  weeks  after  the  following  verses  were  written.] 

In  sadness,  in  sorrow,  a  soldier  wept, 

O'er  the  form  so  cold  and  chill ; 
And  the  struggling  sigh,  the  gasp  for  breath, 
The  glazing  eye,  the  fight  with  death, 

Grew  fainter  and  fainter  still. 

"  Oh,  my  brother,"  the  dying  soldier  said, 

"  You  were  always  mother's  pride  ; 
Eemember  her  now;  "  and  he  paler  grew  ; 
"  But  remember  the  South,  our  country,  too  ; 

God  protect  you  !  "  and  he  died. 

Then  with  measured  step  and  the  muffled  drum, 

"We  marched  to  the  sacred  ground  ; 
And  we  laid  the  youth  who  was  once  our  pride, 
In  the  soft,  green  turf,  by  his  brother's  side, 

Till  the  final  trump  shall  sound. 

And  sad  and  alone  in  his  canvas  tent. 

One  mourns  for  the  buried  three  ; 
Who  came  at  their  country's  rallying  cry. 
To  struggle,  to  sufi'er,  perchance  to  die, 

For  the  South  —  for  liberty ! 


264    •  THE   DYING    CHRISTIAN    WARRIOR. 


Clje  5sing  C^rbtiait  Wimxox. 


BY  JAMES  R.  BREWER. 


"  Let  us  cross  over  the  river  and  rest  in  the  shade  of  the  trees." 

There  was  silence  that  night.     The  sentry  was  mute  ; 

And  the  camp  was  disturbed  with  a  sigh  ; 
There  was  music  above  of  the  minstrel  and  lute, 

And  a  rustling  of  wings  in  the  sky ; 
For  the  soul  of  the  mighty  was  bidding  adieu 

To  earth,  ere  it  rose  on  the  breeze, 
Preparing  to  cross  the  great  Eiver  of  Life, 

To  rest  in  the  shade  of  its  trees. 
"  Behold  how  He  loved  him  !  "  the  glad  seraph  sang; 
"  Behold  hoW  they  loved  him  !  "  was  felt  in  the  pang 
That  pierced  the  brave  hearts  that  had  followed  him  here, 
Now  heard  in  a  sob,  and  now  seen  in  a  tear. 

"  Let  us  cross  o'er  the  river  !  '^  He  smiled  as  he  spoke, 

"  And  rest  'neath  the  shade  of  the  trees," 
And  the  eternal  hills  their  slumber  awoke. 

With  the  cherubim's  anthem  of  peace. 
But  the  watcher  bowed  low  as  he  caught  the  soft  breath, 

And  wept  as  the  pulses  grew  still ; 
And  proud  of  their  mission,  the  angels  of  death 

Performed  the  Omniscient  will. 
"  He  is  gone,"  sighed  the  mourner,  "  our  pleadings  were 

vain  ;  " 
"  He  has  come,"  sang  the  angels,  "  he's  free  from  all  pain," 
And  the  Eiver  of  Life  its  dark  surgings  depressed. 
Till  they  bore  him  beneath  its  ripe  branches  to  rest. 

He  has  crossed  the  dark  river,  he  rests  in  the  shade ; 
'Twas  ordained  by  Jehovah's  decree; 


JOHNSON'S   ISLAND.  265 

Then,  sinner,  beware,  for  the  mighty  must  fade, 

And  a  span  's  but  allotted  to  thee. 
But  Christian,  look  up,  for  there  's  hope  in  the  sky, 

An  example  of  faith  and  reward. 
There  's  a  lesson  to  all  that  the  righteous  must  die, 

And  the  wicked  must  meet  the  same  Lord  ! 
Then  teach  us,  dear  Father,  our  vices  to  shun  ; 
So  teach  us  to  worship,  that  when  life  is  done. 
We  may  cross  the  broad  river.  Thy  mandates  appease. 
And  rest  in  your  shade  —  immortality's  trees  ! 

Baltimore,  Oct.  4th,  1865. 


^ol^mon^  f  slattir. 


BY   LIEUTENANT   E.    A.    HOLMES,    OF   VIRGINIA. 


Oh,  who  has  not  heard  of  that  isle  in  Lake  Erie, 

So  guarded  to-day  —  so  unheeded  before, 
Where  the  truthful  and  brave  stroll,  all  listless  and  weary, 

Their  hearts  far  away  from  it's  wave-sounding  shore  ? 

The  sun  rises  red  o'er  thy  waters.  Lake  Erie, 
And  gladdens  the  day  with  it's  rich  golden  hue  : 

Oh,  who  will  e'er  tell  of  the  thoughts  sad  and  weary, 
Now  curtaining  with  sadness  the  souls  of  the  true ! 

Where  cannon  boomed  loud  'mid  the  storm  of  the  battle. 
And  riders  lay  breathless,  their  horses  all  foam  — 

Those  hearts  never  quailed  'mid  the  musketry's  rattle ; 
Now  they  melt  at  the  thought  of  dear  faces  at  home. 
12 


266  MY   PRISON    DREAR. 

The  bugle  call  wakes,  with  it's  "reveille"  token, 
From  niorht's  fitful  slumbers  those  heroes  so  true  ; 

From  sweet  dreams  of  "  Dixie,"  unconquered,  unbroken ^ 
To  muse  and  to  sigh  'till  the  welcome  "  tattoo." 

Oh,  who  would  have  thought,  tho'  a  Prophet  had  told  us, 
A  few  years  ago,  that  such  things  would  e'er  be?  — 

That  strangers  might  come  and  in  prison  behold  us. 
Confined  in  a  land  that  yet  claims  to  be  free  ? 

The  storm-blasts  of  winter  sweep  over  Lake  Erie : 
In  silence  we  bear  our  lost  comrades  to  rest ; 

No  more  will  they  stroll  with  the  listless  and  weary, 
They  sleep  their  last  sleep  in  this  isle  of  the  West. 


BY   LIEUTENANT    D.    T.    WALKER,    OF    MISSISSIPPI. 


Alas  !  how  slow  the  moments  go, 
As  fettered  on  this  friendless  Isle  ; 
Day  after  day,  Time  wears  away, 
While  failing  Hope  forgets  to  smile. 

No  change  of  scene  to  soothe  one's  spleen, 
The  "blues"  lay  hold  upon  me  ; 
And  like  a  bog-exhalant  fog, 
This  murky  cloud  of  thick  en7iui. 

Twelve  months  to-day,  have  passed  away, 
A  full  grown  age  it  seems  the  while ; 


MY   PRISON    DREAR.  267 

Since  Fortune's  wheel  forsook  my  weal, 
And  made  my  lot  this  jH-ison  vile. 

Obscure,  unfriended,  I'm  unattended 
With  comforts  —  have  just  none  at  all; 
Ilave  naught  to  eat,  save  bread  and  meat, 
That  bad,  and  miserably  small. 

The  coat  I  wear,  is  now  threadbare  : 
My  pants  are  torn,  and  full  of  holes; 
My  shoes  unglossed,  their  strings  have  lost, 
And  soon,  alas  !  will  lose  their  soles. 

Ky  old  felt  hat  —  my  faithful  hat. 

We  soon  our  ties  of  love  must  sever, 

That  bullet-rent,  so  fiercely  sent. 

Has  marred  your  style  and  shape  forever. 

Life's  tenure  slim,  slouched  hangs  your  brim, 
You've  braved  all  sorts  of  stormy  weather ; 
Alas !  for  you,  you've  proved  too  true, 
We  twain  are  prisoners  still  together. 

In  such  sad  plight,  I  spend  each  night, 
The  weary  hours  my  soul  benumbing. 
Though  far  away  I  try  each  day, 
To  see  those  better  times  a  coming. 

Dear  native  land!  heroic  stand, 
Though  with  blood  thy  fields  are  streaming, 
God  grant  to  give  thee  strength  to  live, 
I  see  thy  day-star  brightly  beaming ! 

Come  life  or  death,  my  latest  breath, 
I  pledge  my  life  —  my  all  to  thee ; 
In  God  our  trust,  if  fail  we  must. 
We  yet  can  die  and  thus  be  free ! 


268  EIGHT    YEARS   AGO. 


6igbt  gears  §.30. 


A  PRISON  LAY. 


BY   W.    E.    PENN,    OF    TENNESSEE. 


Just  eight  years  ago,  I  remember  the  day, 
When  all  was  so  happy,  so  joyous  and  gay ; 
I  stood  near  the  edge  of  a  soft-flowing  stream, 
'Twas  stranger  than  fiction,  and  seemed  as  a  dream. 

And  near  where  I  stood  was  a  beautiful  bower, 
And  in  its  cool  shade  was  a  delicate  flower ; 
As  it  stood  there  alone,  so  lovely,  so  sweet, 
I  gently  approached  it,  and  knelt  at  its  feet. 

I  there  made  a  vow  to  protect  and  defend 
That  delicate  flower  till  existence  should  end ; 
And  then,  by  consent  of  the  goddess  of  flowers, 
I  plucked  it  away  from  beneath  its  loved  bowers. 

Then  on  the  bright  bosom  of  that  limpid  stream 
I  floated  as  soft  as  a  midsummer's  dream ; 
And  as  still  I  moved  onward  adown  the  smooth  tide, 
I  kept  that  fair  flower  ever  close  by  my  side. 

I  felt,  oh,  so  happy !  so  gladsome  and  free ! 
As  boundless  my  joy  as  the  wide-flowing  sea  ; 
Twas  pleasure,  'twas  rapture,  as  thus  we  sailed  on  ; 

Bidding  sorrow  and  trouble  forever  begone ! 

• 

But  while  thus  gliding  on,  and  with  prospects  so  bright. 
My  barque  —  ah  !  'twas  wrecked  in  the  darkness  of  night, 
And  to-day  all  alone,  in  my  dark  prison  cell, 
I  muse  on  the  joys  that  have  whispered  "  Farewell !  " 

But  hope  !  sweetest  hope  !  still  she  whispers  to  me  : 
"All  —  all  is  not  darkness,  you  yet  shall  be  free. 


A  prisoner's  fancy.  269 

And  again  on  the  stream  you  in  safety  shall  glide, 

With  your  own  precious  flower  close,  close  by  your  side." 

Ah!  then  I'll  be  haj^py  and  gladsome  once  more, 
When  freed  from  captivity,  carnage  and  gore  ; 
I'll  rest,  sweetly  rest,  as  still  onward  I  move, 
With  my  spring  flower  beside  me  —  my  angel  of  love  ! 

Then  grant,  gracious  Father,  the  boon  that  I  ask. 
In  the  light  of  Thy  goodness,  yet  wearing  its  mask ; 
When  the  day-star  of  life  shall  at  last  fade  away. 
Let  the  flower  still  be  mine,  with  its  love  of  to-day. 


%  "^momfn  i\mts* 


BY    COLONEL   W.    S.    HAWKINS. 


Though  I  rest  within  a  Prison,  and  long  miles  between 

us  be. 
Past  the  guards  and  through  the  distance,  sweet  my  soul 
goes  out  to  thee  ?  , 

Seeks  thy  presence  at  the  dawning  and  the  tender  twi- 
light hour, 
Through  the  light  and  through  the  shadow  — in  the 
sunshine  and  the  shower. 

Whether  in  my  narrow  cot,  or  pacing  sadly  in  my  cell. 
With  a  slow  and  measured  footstep,  like  my  watching 

sentinel, 
My  spirit  ever  flieth  on  its  wings  of  hope  and  light. 
And  with  yearnings  wild  and  eager,  it  seeks  thee,  love, 

to-nio-ht. 

O 


270  A  prisoner's  fancy. 

Thus  again  I  sit  and  clasp  thee,  and  thy  head  leans  on 
my  breast, 

The  dear  accustomed  place  where  it  of  old  was  wont  to 
rest ; 

And  I  feel  thy  heart's  true  throbbing,  as  I  press  it  close 
to  mine, 

And  drink  the  love-light  of  thine  eyes,  where  such  ten- 
der fancies  shine. 

On  the  veined  lids  that  shadow  those  deep  and  loving 

eyes, 
Pressing  kisses  pure  and  holy,  in  whose  warmth  the  ar- 
dor lies  : 
"We  felt  in  by-gone  hours  when  as  lovers  fond  and  young, 
We  walked  and  seemed  to  listen  to  the  songs  in  Eden 
sung. 

When  by  us,  gently  sighing,  went  the  freighted  evening 

breeze, 
Or  whispered  blessings  o'er  us  to  the  thick  and  bending 

trees, 
"Where  we  paused,  and  in  the  stillness,  with  our  love  each 

other  crowned, 
And  thoa  wert  dearer  then,  as  now,  than  aught  in  earth's 

wide  round. 

'Twas  thus  I  pledged  to  Heaven,  that  naught  us  twain 

could  ever  part  — 
And  my  choicest  garlands  crowned  you  as  the  Queen  of 

all  my  heart  — 
That  we  would  go  together  through  the  shocks  and  storms 

of  Life, 
I  —  to  be  the  faithful  Husband,  and  you  the  tender  Wife. 

Then  my  spirit  flieth  southward,  to  the  little  lonely  grave. 
That  holds  the  dearest  treasure,  e'er  to  mother  earth  we 
gave  — 


A  prisoner's  fancy.  271 

O  coming  spring !  with  flowers  crown  my  Darling's 
quiet  tomb, 

And  for  my  sake  breathe  over  her,  your  daintiest  per- 
fume. 

Yet  still  I  catch  the  music  of  her  sweet  and  childisK 

voice  — 
That  voice  now  swells  the  chorus  where  the  Seraphim's 

rejoice. 
Yet  its  lingering  tones  are  with  me,  and  they  lead  and 

lure  me  on  — 
To  where  some  day  I'll  find  her  beside  the  Great  White 

Throne. 

And  I  visit  then  my  mother,  kneeling  low  in  fervent 

prayer, 
The  prayer  that  every  day  goes  up  for  me  to  Heaven 

there ; 
And  I  see  my  little  brother  in  his  innocent  repose  — 
God  spare  him  all  the   sorrow  that  my  weary  spirit 

knows. 

As  the  evening  shadows  gather,  may  he  be  her  pride 

and  joy, 

For  we  love  him,  ah !  so  truly,  our  gentle  brother  boy  — 

And  to  her  I  cling  in  fondness,  like  a  tendril  to  the  vine, 

And  ask  all  blessings  round  her  path,  that  Mother  dear,  of 

mine. 

Now  past  the  height  and  river,  by  the  uplands  and  the 

plain, 
I  am  coming  dear  one,  coming,  for  I  seek  my  home  again, 
And  I  find  you  sleeping  calmly,  with  my  babe  upon  your 

breast, 
And  fondly  all  my  love  upon  the  lips  of  both  is  pressed. 

You  smile  as  in  your  dreaming,  I  whisper  soft  and  low. 
And  sigh — and  sigh  so  sadly  —  for  I  am  loth  to  go  ; 


272  GIVE  UP. 

But  the  captive's  weary  body  will  need  his  weary  soul, 
To  be  back  and  answer  for  him  at  the  calling  of  the  roll. 

Back  to  hours  of  sadness,  and  dreariness  forlorn, 

"Where  the  stars  are  gone  from  night,  and  the  glories  from 

the  morn  — 
Where  Captivity  is  breathing  her  poison  every  where, 
And   the   grave-yard's   mouth   is   yawning,  to   claim  its 

gloomy  share. 

O  Death  in  Life !     O  Life  in  Death !  the  victories  thou 

hast  won ! 
The  pale-faced  captive's  free  at  last,  in  the  land  beyond  the 

sun. 
Dear  God,  to  Thee  I  look   through  tears,   Oh  aid  and 

strengthen  me, 
Till  I  and  all  my  Brothers,  in  that  happy  land  are  free. 


The  following  lines,  written  at  Johnson's  Island,  Ohio,  in  the  winter  of 
1865,  were  occasioned  by  a  Confederate  officer's  remark  :  ^^That  the  South 
had  best  give  up  the  struggle^  as  she  stood  no  chance.'^ 


6xk  %. 


GOL.  B.  H.   JONES. 


Give  up  and  then  plead,  'twas  the  fiat  of  fate. 
That  the  blood  which  now  reddens  your  veins. 

Should  curdle  and  creep  and  clog  neath  the  weight 
And  corrosion  of  tyranny's  chains ! 


GIVE  UP.  273 

Give  up  !  from  your  home  to  be  driven  away  ; 

The  home  where  your  mother  hath  prayed; 
The  home  of  your  wife  and  your  children  to-day, 

The  home  where  in  boyhood  you  played ! 

Give  up  !  that  a  fugitive  over  the  earth, 
You  may  wander  like  brow-marked  Cain  ; 

With  curses  invoked  on  the  day  of  your  birth ; 
With  prayers  for  the  death-stroke  in  vain  ! 

Give  up !  and  become  the  mean  slave  of  your  serf; 

A  bond-man  to  your  bond-man  made ! 
And  rattle  your  chains  o'er  the  hallowed  turf, 

Where  the  bones  of  your  dead  ones  are  laid  [ 

Give  up !  that  the  bigoted  Puritan  race, 

May  point  the  slow  finger  of  scorn, 
And  hiss,  as  it  were  to  your  children's  disgrace : 

"  See  !  the  young  of  a  rebel  horn  !  " 

Give  up!  to  be  scouted  and  disfranchised; 

Have  all  rights  whatsoever  denied  ; 
To  be  scoffed  at,  spit  on,  snubbed  and  despised 

By  those  you  have  ever  defied! 

Give  up !  that  your  daughter,  so  tender  and  fair ; 

And  your  wife,  so  fond  and  so  true  ; 
May  be  stormed  at,  while  lolls  in  her  soft  cushioned  chair. 

Their  mistress  —  a  Puritan  shrew ! 

Give  up !  that  your  State  may  be  struck  from  the  roll, 

Where  long  she  in  glory  hath  shone ; 
And  taxmen,  exacting  of  tithe  and  of  toll. 

May  reap  where  they  never  have  sown  ! 

Give  up  !  that  the  acres  you  now  call  your  own, 
May  be  portioned  'twixt  Northman  and  slave ; 
12* 


274  aivE  UP. 

And  that  'shamed  to  have  sired  so  dastard  a  son, 
Your  father  may  turn  in  his  grave ! 

Give  up  !  and  then  feel  that  your  manhood  is  gone  ; 

Tour  pride,  once  high,  now  humbled  and  tame; 
To  your  children,  instead  of  Liberty  won, 

Transmit  a  vile  burthen  of  shame ! 

Give  up  !  of  their  husbands  and  brothers  bereft, 
Bending  in  grief  yet  nerved  by  despair ; 

Our  women,  so  long  as  one  only  is  left, 
The  wrath  of  the  Xorthman  shall  dare ! 

Give  up !     JS^ot  while  remaineth  to  one  poor  child, 
Strength  to  mould  to  bullets  our  lead; 

Till  our  fruitful  land  is  a  desert  wild, 
And  the  last  of  our  race  is  dead ! 

Give  up  !     Xot  till  the  last  true  Southron  shall  fall 
In  the  face  of  the  Northman's  advance  ; 

On  the  soil  of  the  South  shall  not  crouch  a  thrall, 
To  quail  at  the  conqueror's  glance ! 

Give  up  !     No,  never !     Eather  welcome  the  whole 
Of  the  curses  and  scourges  of  Heaven ; 

While  above  us  the  waves  of  the  ocean  roll, 
By  the  wrath  of  Jehovah  driven ! 

Give  up  !     Ah  !     Trust  not  their  promises  rare, 
Of  ]\Iercy — their  Friendship  —  their  Love! 

Such  mercy  the  eagle  extends  to  the  hare. 
Such  love,  hath  the  hawk  for  the  dove ! 


"No  chance!  "     There  is  always  a  chance  for  the  brave, 

TTho  valiantly  stand  to  the  fight ; 
And  triumph  shall  light  e'en  the  gloom  of  the  grave, 
For  the  hero  that  dies  for  the  Right ! 

Johnson's  Island,  January/  8t7i,  1865. 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  275 


OB 

THE  DRUMMER-BOY  OF  THE  RAPPAHANNOCK. 

BY 
CAPT.  A.  J.  PEELER,  OF  FLORIDA. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

It  was  four  o'clock,  on  the  morning  of  December  11th, 
1862.  Snow  lay  upon  the  ground,  to  the  depth  of  several 
inches.  The  waning  moon,  veiled  by  flying  mists,  fitfully 
threw  its  pale  beams  upon  the  wintry  shroud  in  which 
nature  was  now  enrobed^,  giving  to  our  camp  a  semi-sad 
and  strangely  romantic  appearance. 

Being  without  tents  to  shelter  us  from  the  pitiless  blasts 
of  winter,  that  swept  in  spiteful  fury  over  the  arable  lands 
and  bleak  hill-tops  in  the  vicinity  of  Fredericksburg,  we 
had  nestled  us  down,  some  two  miles  distant,  in  a  cosy 
scooped  out  sort  of  place  on  the  side  of  a  steep  and  rugged 
hill,  crowned  with  cedar  and  covered  with  forest  trees  of 
various  kinds.  These,  with  their  bare  leafless  heads  and 
outstretched  branches,  as  skeleton  arms  in  drapery  of 
white,  looked  like  so  many  weird  and  spectral  sentinels 
keeping  night  vigil  in  a  silent  church-yard,  over  the  tombs 
of  the  dead,  and  seemed  in  ghostly  etiquette,  constantly 
and  solemnly  bowing  to  each  other  as  they  were  swayed 
to  and  fro  by  the  wild  wind,  in  whose  moan,  a  fancied 
mysterious  converse  was  held  with  invisible  spirits,  per- 
chance of  loved  ones  from  far-off  homes,  who  had  come 
to  commune  with  those  of  the  dreaming,  sleeping  soldiers 
reposing  beneath  them. 

The  chattering  teeth  and  half-suppressed  moan  of  some 
wretchedly  clad  sentry,  with  sore  and  chill-blained  feet, 
protected  only  by  strips  of  blankets  or  rags,  and  whose 
every  joint  shivered  with  paroxysms  of  cold,  could  be 


276  ARTHUR   MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO. 

heard,  as  like  an  anguished  shadow,  along  his  snow  path, 
alone,  he  walked  his  weary  beat.  But  his  aches  and  pains 
were  soon  to  end.  He  cast  his  eyes  longingly  towards  the 
guard  tent.  Bright  sparks  from  the  watch-fire  suddenly 
flew,  crackling  upwards.  Thebrands  were  stirred  from  their 
ashy  beds,  and  the  blaze  kindled,  by  which  the  Corporal 
was  to  call  over  the  names  of  the  "second,"  and  long- 
looked-for,  relief.  As  he  passed  around  the  fire,  arousing 
the  dusky  forms,  his  dimly  reflected  shadow,  Hke  a  huge 
supernatural  giant,  followed  him  with  corresponding  move- 
ment on  the  snow. 

One  by  one,  the  sleepers  arose,  yawned,  rubbed  their 
drowsy  eyes,  buckled  on  their  cartridge  boxes,  and  "  fell 
in."  The  command  "  March,"  was  given  ;  then  followed 
the  slow,  dull  tramp  of  approaching  foot-steps.  Thank 
God  !  he  was  about  to  go  off  duty  — a  duty  of  almost  un- 
endurable suffering.  Hark!  Two  signal  guns  from  an 
eminence  near  by  peal  forth,  breaking  the  stillness  of  the 
night,  and  sharply  piercing  the  ear  of  the  sleeping  host. 
Long  ere  the  echo  had  ceased  to  reverberate  from  hill-top 
to  hill-top,  or  mutteringly  respond  from  deep  wood  and  wind- 
ing valley,  it  was  taken  up  and  followed  by  the  rattling 
din  of  a  thousand  drums,  sounding  the  "  long  roll,"  min- 
gled with  the  blast  of  Artillery  bugles,  the  harsh  clangor 
of  hoofs,  and  the  heavy  rumbling  of  wheels. 

Behold  the  change!  A  change  as  sudden,  if  not  as 
miraculous,  as  the  transformation  of  the  dry,  flinty,  mar- 
rowless  bones  of  the  valley,  into  living,  moving  flesh  and 
blood !  The  mighty  army  of  Lee,  but  a  moment  ago  in  such 
deep  unconscious  slumber,  is  in  arms  with  the  war  harness 
on,  panoplied  for  the  work  of  death. 

The  cry  of  "fall  in,  fall  in,"  rings  in  every  direction 
throughout  the  camp.  Accoutrements  are  quickly  adjust- 
ed, blankets  folded,  canteens  and  haversacks  supplied,  and 
one  brigade  moving,  at  a  "  double  quick,"  towards  Fred- 
ericksburg. 


ARTHUR   MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO.  277 

The  battle  has  begun.  At  every  step,  we  can  hear  the 
sharp,  brisk  fire  of  musketry,  and  the  booming  of  ar- 
tillery. Our  troops  in  the  city  are  stubbornly  resisting 
the  enemy  in  their  repeated  efforts,  under  cover  of  dark- 
ness, to  construct  their  pontoon  bridges.  Eeaching  the 
X^osition  assigned  us,  we  are  formed  in  line  of  battle,  a 
short  distance  from  the  city,  our  "right"  resting  on  the 
plank  road  leading  out  to  Orange  Court  House.  Soon, 
red-tinged  rays  of  light,  ominous  of  the  coming  slaughter, 
herald  the  approach  of  morn.  They  shoot  up  athwart  the 
grey,  cold  sky,  from  over  the  amphitheatre  of  hills  toward 
the  classic  Potomac.  The  snow-capped  crests  of  the 
Staftbrd  heights,  on  the  east  side  of  the  equally  classic 
Eappahannock,  are  reflected  in  glistening  outline.  Be- 
hind these,  are  marshalled  the  hosts  of  Burnside,  for  the 
first  battle  of  Fredericksburg.  On  the  west  side,  behind 
the  famous  Spottsylvania  heights,  like  the  crouched  pan- 
ther, ready  to  spring  upon  its  prey,  lie  the  hosts  of  Lee,  to 
meet  him  in  deadly  conflict  when  he  shall  effect  a  cross- 
ing. 

jS'otwithstanding  the  danger  of  the  impending  attack 
upon  the  city,  many  families  remained,  having  nowhere 
else  to  shelter  themselves.  Those  who  desired  to  make 
their  escape  during  the  day,  were  enabled  to  do  so,  the 
enemy's  batteries  being  so  posted,  as  to  command  and 
sweep  with  grape  shot,  every  street  and  alley  in  the 
city. 

At  1  P.  M.,  a  concentrated  fire  of  solid  and  hot  shot,  and 
shell  from  an  hundred  smoking,  belching  throats  of  iron 
frowning  down  from  the  Stafford  heights,  Avas  poured  into 
the  city,  for  the  purpose  of  its  destruction.  It  was,  con- 
sequently, soon  enveloped  in  angry,  roaring  flames,  which, 
leaping  with  almost  lightning  sj^eed  from  house-top  to 
steeple,  licked  out  their  red-forked  tongues,  high  in  the 
dense  clouds  of  black  smoke,  that  hung  like  a  huge  pall 
on  the  sad  scene  of  destruction.      Indeed,  it  was  a  sad 


278  ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR  LITTLE    HERO. 

sight,  as  the  fairest  portion  of  one  of  the  proud  "  Old 
Dominion's  "  most  ancient  cities,  where  Washington  spent 
the  days  of  his  boj'hood,  and  the  bones  of  his  mother 
rested,  was  being  kxid  in  ashes.  On  every  side,  flying  in 
every  direction,  were  buzzing,  jagged  fragments  of  tin  and 
slate  roofing,  brick,  mortar,  and  splintered  boards,  sundered, 
torn  and  scattered  by  the  crash  of  solid  shot  and  the  ter- 
rific explosion  of  shell. 

During  all  this  time,  poor  helpless  women  and  children, 
crouched  and  crowded  in  dark,  cold  cellars,  were  expect- 
ing every  moment  to  be  consumed  in  the  conflagration, 
buried  under  the  ponderous  masses  of  masonry  and  tim- 
ber that  were  toppling  and  tumbling  down  over  their  heads 
at  each  thundering  discharge  of  artillery,  or  frightfully 
mangled  by  a  seething,  hissing  shell  bursting  in  their 
midst. 

Children,  unused  to  such  novel  and  terrible  sights,  and 
harsh,  deafening  sounds,  clung  to  their  mother's  skirts, 
uttering  heart  piercing  screams,  mingled  with  frantic 
pleadings  to  be  taken  away.  Tender  little  babes,  conscious 
of  the  presence  of  some  dread  calamity,  though  they  knew 
not  what,  timidly  nestled  themselves  for  protection  in  the 
heaving,  anguished  bosoms  of  their  mothers,  who,  with  wild 
sobs,  were  imploring  God  to  shield  under  his  wing  them- 
selves and  little  ones,  from  the  raging  storm  of  destruc- 
tion and  death.  For  more  than  twelve  long,  long  hours, 
they  remained  in  this  inconceivably  wretched  situation. 
What  pen  is  adequate  to  the  task  of  describing  their 
agonies  ?  None  !  As  the  shades  of  night  began  to  mantle 
the  city,  smoking  in  its  ruins,  they  hurried  out  from  their 
hiding  places  and  began  to  leave.  The  city  was  now  being 
rapidly  occupied  by  the  Federal  troops,  who,  completing 
their  pontoon  bridges,  had  crossed  over,  their  presence 
adding  greatly  to  the  fears  of  the  flying  citizens.  Their 
only  route  of  egress  was  along  the  plank  road,  upon 
which,  as  before  stated,  rested  the  right  of  our  brigade. 


ARTUUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  279 

To  this  portion  of  the  line,  I  belonged.  Here,  I  witnessed 
scenes  that  I  can  never  forget.  My  memory  can  bring  in 
view,  no  picture  of  such  utter  distress.  TVagons,  carts, 
and  vehicles  of  every  descrij)tion,  were  jammed  together, 
wheel-locked,  and  rendering  the  road  impassable  every  few 
paces.  These  pressed  in  by  some  of  the  more  fortunate, 
as  conveyances  for  their  necessary  baggage,  were  constant- 
ly upsetting  and  emptying  their  contents  on  the  ground, 
addiug  to  the  obstructions  in  the  way. 

The  greater  portion  of  these  poor  outcasts  and  refugees, 
as  they  were  now  made  by  the  misfortunes  of  war,  from 
the  danger  of  even  a  moment's  delay  in  their  hasty  depar- 
ture, had  not  brought  with  them  a  single  article  of  bedding, 
or  even  a  change  of  clothing.  Those  who  have  lived  in 
comfortable  and  quiet  homes,  during  this  fierce  revolution, 
and  witnessed  none  of  its  horrors  at  their  own  doors,  can 
form  no  idea  of  the  truly  deplorable  condition  of  these 
unfortunates,  driven  from  beneath  their  own  roofs.  Think 
of  it!  At  night  —  in  darkness,  houseless,  homeless,  —  on 
a  public  highway,  in  the  midst  of  a  panic  stricken  wildly 
rushing  throng,  going,  they  knew  not  where  —  to  stop  — 
they  knew  not  when  —  pierced  through  with  cutting  winds, 
were  found  weeping,  wailing,  distracted  mothers  with  lit- 
tle children,  whose  tender  little  hands  and  feet  were  pur- 
ple with  biting  cold,  piteously  crying. 

True  is  it  "  that  the  vices  of  another  age  shock  and  as- 
tonish us,  while  those  of  our  own  day  and  time  excite  but 
little  horror." 

In  this  inextricable  entanglement,  this  interwoven,  mov- 
ing, surging  mass  of  misery,  where  even  old  men  whose 
long  silvery  locks  — if  possible,  made  more  white  by  the 
falling  snow  —  leaning  for  support  upon  their  staffs,  moved 
with  decrepit  limps;  where  all  seemed  powerless,  none 
able  to  help  another,  my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  little 
boy  driving  his  cow  and  calf,  his  words  of  command,  familiar 
no  doubt  to  them,  rising  like  a  voice  above  the  war's  wild 


280  ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR    LITTLE    HERO. 

wreck  and  storm,  over  the  confusion  and  noise  around 
him.  They  were  frequently  separated  by  persons  and  con- 
veyances passing  between  them,  and  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  he  could  prevent  their  being  lost;  but  he  perse- 
vered, and  on  they  come  with  the  rest  of  the  moving  mass, 
the  old  cow  lowing  in  a  melancholy  tone,  and  the  little 
calf  trotting  along  by  her  side  with  responsive  cry.  In 
my  next  chapter  I  shall  introduce  you  to  this  little  boy  as 
the  hero  of  my  story. 


CHAPTEE   II. 

On  the  east  side  of  the  canal,  running  from  the  falls  at 
Palmouth  to  Fredericksburg,  and  equi-distant  between 
these  places,  stood  a  small,  but  very  neat  and  comfortable 
cottage.  It  was  once  a  very  happy  home.  Its  inmates, 
though  humble  in  fortune,  communed  in  pure  and  unstained 
joy  around  its  cheerful  fireside.  One  of  them  —  the  strong 
one  —  was  now  gone.  His  footstejDS  had  not  been  heard 
uj)on  its  threshhold  for  more  than  a  year.  His  vacant 
chair  seemed  to  invite  his  return,  but  it  remained  vacant 
still,  and  its  dark  shadow  rested  on  the  hearth-stone  near 
which  it  sat. 

At  the  date  of  our  story  it  was  the  home  of  a  gentle, 
pale-faced  woman,  in  the  weeds  of  widowhood.  Though 
taste,  and  even  elegance,  was  everywhere  displayed  around 
it,  still  it  had  that  sad  and  forsaken  sort  of  look  which 
belongs  to  the  home  of  the  widow.  The  beautiful  tessel- 
ated  patterns  which  formed  the  ground-work  of  the  front 
yard,  and  which  in  spring-time  were  decked  with  choice 
shrubbery  and  fragrant  flowers,  now  in  their  garments  of 
snow,  only  added  to  the  loveliness  of  its  appearance. 

Yes,  the  strong  arm  was  gone,  but  the  widow  was  not 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO,  281 

all  alone.  There  was  one  left  her  still,  to  speak  kind  words, 
to  comfort  and  render  less  poignant  the  deep  sorrow  of  her 
bereavement.  One,  now  nearest  her  heart,  since  he, 
whose  image  he  bore,  could  never  come  back  to  her  again. 

It  was  little  Arthur  Murray,  the  son  and  only  child  of 
the  widowed  mother.  He  was  now  in  his  tenth  year,  and 
possessed  an  unusually  noble  and  manly  spirit  for  one  so 
young,  as  we  think  the  sequel  of  our  story  will  show. 
His  father  had  been  the  superintendent  of  one  of  the  sev- 
eral cotton  and  cloth  factories  on  the  Canal.  Sober  and 
industrious  in  his  habits,  he  was  held  in  high  esteem  by 
his  employer  and  neighbors. 

By  close  attention  to  business  he  had  managed,  as  the 
result  of  his  honest  earnings,  not  only  to  support  in  more 
than  ordinary  comfort  his  family,  but  had  purchased  the 
home  we  have  described.  He  had  also  laid  up  enough 
money,  as  he  said,  to  give  little  Arthur  the  advantages  of 
an  education.  His  great  object  seemed  to  be,  to  make  his 
only  son,  on  whom  was  centered  all  a  father's  love,  a  good 
and  useful  man.  But  Arthur  was  soon  to  be  deprived  of 
a  father's  care  and  counsel. 

When  the  tocsin  first  sounded,  he  was  among  the  fore- 
most to  buckle  on  his  armor  and  take  his  place  in  the 
ranks.  A  man  of  sterling  worth  and  unflinching  patriot- 
ism, he  had  no  respect  for  those  who  could  prate  by  the 
week  at  home,  but  were  unwilling  to  risk  their  lives  upon 
the  field,  in  their  country's  hour  of  trial  and  danger.  He 
did  not  flee  the  coming  storm ;  he  stood  firm  to  breast  it. 
Scarcely  had  the  warm,  fond  kiss  dried  upon  loved  lips,  as 
he  pressed  to  his  bosoni  in  parting,  his  wife  and  darling 
boy,  or  the  echo  of  his  last  foot-fall  died  away,  when  he  fell 
in  the  red  front  of  battle.  On  the  memorable  field  of  the 
first  Manassas  he  yielded  up  his  life.  There,  in  a  common 
grave,  in  a  wide  trench  filled  with  heaps  of  unknown  dead, 
Avith  nought  to  distinguish  the  particular  spot,  sleep  the 
last  remains  of  a  brave  man,  true  patriot,  devoted  husband, 


282  ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO. 

and  affectionate  father.  Other  husbands  and  fathers  sleep 
there  also  —  yes,  many  of  them  —  and  other  widows  and 
orphans  will  never  forget  that  battle  plain.  But  some  day, 
we  are  told  —  and  what  a  terrible  day  it  will  be  —  they 
will  all  rise  from  that  mouldering  heap  —  that  trench, 
covered  perhaps  with  the  turf  of  centuries,  and  a  just  God 
before  the  assembled  nations  of  the  world,  will  hurl  into 
eternal  banishment  from  His  presence  to  meet  their  reward, 
those  who,  ignoring  the  teachings  of  Christianity,  the 
precepts  of  the  meek  and  holy  Jesus,  who  said,  "blessed 
are  the  peace-makers,"  have  not  raised  their  hands  to  stay 
the  work  of  fiendish  slaughter ! 

The  telegraph  wires  flashed,  the  startling  news  that  the 
first  great  battle  had  been  fought.  For  several  days  the 
most  painful  suspense  ensued.  Reports  were  confused, 
tardy  in  coming,  contained  but  few  particulars,  and  there, 
as  has  proved  the  case  in  every  subsequent  battle,  of  a  very 
unsatisfactory  character.  A  victory  had  been  gained,  but 
what  was  its  price  ?  Who  had  given  a  husband,  a  son,  or 
a  brother  for  it  ?  Crowds  gathered  around  the  bulletin 
boards,  telegraph,  and  post-offices.  All,  with  countenances 
depicting  the  deepest  anxiety,  were  seeking  to  learn  the 
fate  of  relatives  and  friends. 

First  at  all  these  places  was  little  Arthur.  On  the  ar- 
rival of  each  mail,  squeezing  and  edging  his  slender  form 
through  the  mass  of  grown-up  men,  he  would  stand  close 
up  under  the  "  delivery  "  with  throbbing  heart,  as  soon  as 
opened,  to  inquire  for  a  letter  —  "a  letter  from  father." 
When  told  there  was  none,  he  would  turn  sorrowfully  away 
to  retrace  his  steps  homeward,  with  heavy  heart. 

Brushing  away  the  tears  that  stood  in  his  bright  blue 
eyes,  to  look  as  cheerful  as  possible,  he  would  hasten  back 
to  comfort  his  mother,  who  would  be  looking  for  him. 
Sure  enough,  he  would  find  her  at  the  gate  awaiting  his 
return.  Though  hurried  his  pace,  there  was  something  in 
his  look  that  would  tell  her  he  was  not  yet  the  happy 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  283 

bearer  of  the  precious  letter.  As  he  would  place  his  arms 
affectionately  around  his  mother's  neck  and  imprint  a  kiss 
upon  her  pale  cheek,  Arthur  knew,  from  her  red  and  swollen 
eyes,  that  she  had  been  weeping  during  his  absence.  Af- 
fecting to  conceal  his  own  emotions,  which  almost  choked 
him,  with  stout  heart  he  would  bid  her  be  of  good  cheer, 
that  all  was  well ;  "  that  the  letter  from  father  would  cer- 
tainly come  to-morrow  —  he  knew  it  would  ;  he  would  be 
at  the  office  early,  and  when  he  got  it,  he  would  run  every 
step  of  the  way  home  to  bring  it  to  her." 

The  morrow  came  —  the  mail  came.  But  did  the  letter 
come  ?  It  was  the  fourth  day  since  the  close  of  the  battle. 
Arthur,  more  anxious  than  ever,  was  the  first  to  ask  for  a 
letter.  Again  there  was  none  for  him.  "  Mother  will  be 
so  disappointed;  why  don't  father  write?"  he  would  ex- 
claim, in  bitter  grief,  little  dreaming  that  the  hand  that 
was  expected  to  pen  the  anxiously  looked-for  letter  was 
pulseless  and  cold.  He  turned  off  more  sad  than  before. 
It  was  such  a  crushing  defeat  of  his  hopes.  This  time  he 
confidently  expected  to  carry  relief  to  his  mother's  heart 

—  to  place  the  letter  in  her  hand  —  to  hear  her  read  what 
father  had  written,  and  to  receive  the  kiss  and  message 
which  he  would  certainly  send  home  —  it  would  be  the  last 
thing  at  the  bottom.of  the  page  —  how  happy  he  would  be. 

Passing  near  a  group  of  men,  where  a  late  Eichmond 
paper  was  being  read,  he  heard  the  names  of  some  of  his 
father's  friends  from  the  city.  It  contained  the  list  of  the 
casualties  in  the  —  Virginia  Eegiment.  He  crept  in  among 
them,  listening  with  intense  interest  to  catch  every  word. 
It  was  his  father's  regiment,  and  as  the  letter  of  his  company 
was  reached,  his  lips  began  to  quiver,  his  heart  to  beat 
with  quickened  throb  ;  he  shuddered  with  strange  feelings 

—  the  curtain  was  about  to  be  withdrawn  —  the  fresh 
young  heart  was  about  to  be  smitten  with  its  first  grief. 
We  withdraw  the  curtain  :  "  Company  G,  killed  —  Charles 
Murray." 


284  ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

Like  clods  upon  a  coffin-lid  these  words  fell  upon  his  ear. 
He  heard  nothing  else.  Falling  down  upon  the  side-walkj 
he  buried  his  face,  already  wet  with  hot,  gushing  tears,  in 
his  cap  —  his  little  military  cap,  that  mother  had  made 
for  him,  that  he  might  look  like  his  father  —  father,  who 
was  dead. 

Poor  little  fellow!  The  sad  truth  burst  upon  him  —  he 
knew  now  why  he  had  gone  back  so  often  disappointed 
from  the  office.  A  thunderbolt  had  pierced  his  very  soul. 
It  came  swift ;  it  came  sudden  !  Why  had  he  not  thought 
before  that  father  was  killed  ?  No  !  he  could  not  believe 
it  then  —  could  he  believe  it  now  f  Yes.  "  Mother  is  a 
widow,  I  am  an  orphan,  and  we  are  alone  in  the  world," 
he  muttered  to  himself.  His  grief  was  quenchless ;  he  cried 
aloud  as  if  his  boyish  heart  would  break. 

Several  of  the  passers-by,  who  were  attracted  by  his 
grief,  on  learning  the  cause,  were  kind  enough  to  express 
pity  for  the  "  poor  little  orphan,"  as  they  called  him. 
There  he  remained  until  a  friend  and  former  employee  with 
his  father  coming  up,  recognized  him.  Taking  him  by  the 
hand,  he  endeavored  to  quiet  his  grief,  and  kindly  offered 
to  accompany  him  home.  Arthur  frequently  stopped  on 
the  way,  and  with  tears  gushing  out  afresh,  would  cry  out, 
"  Oh,  how  can  I  go  home  and  tell  mpther  that  father  is 
dead  —  that  the  letter  now  will  never  come  f  " 

But  it  was  unnecessary  for  him  to  tell  mother —  she  saw 
him  coming  —  heard  his  sobs  —  knew  all  —  a  dark  moun- 
tain of  fate  loomed  up  before  her  —  its  black,  pall-like 
shadow  stole  upon  her  vision  —  she  grew  deathly  sick  — 
she  was  faint  —  she  was  falling  —  the  couch  in  her  cham- 
ber whirled  from  her  as  she  made  an  effort  to  gain  it  —  the 
floor  received  her  senseless  form,  which  fell  heavily  upon 
it,  as  a  dead  Aveight.  Arthur  threw  himself  in  her  arms  — 
neither  could  speak  —  thus  lay  the  newly-made  widow  and 
orphan. 

Look  at  this  picture  and  say,  whether  war's  greatest 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  285 


horror  is  the  ensanguined  field.  But  it  is  not  our  purpose 
to  moralize.  Mrs.  Murray,  who  was  always  of  delicate 
constitution,  rapidly  declined  under  this  terrible  affliction 
—  this  shattering  blow  to  her  heart.  While  unable  to  leave 
her  bed  for  some  three  months,  Arthur  was  her  constant 
companion,  day  and  night,  watching  over  her  with  the  ut- 
most tenderness,  and  anticipating  every  want.  He  would  al- 
low no  one  else  to  do  anything  for  her,  which  his  own  ever 
willing  little  hand  could  do. 

Through  the  affectionate  attention  and  devotion  of  this 
noble  boy,  his  mother  was  partially  restored  to  health.  To 
him  she  was  indebted  for  her  life  —  a  life  she  only  cared 
to  preserve  on  his  account.  Without  her  '*  dear  Arthur,' 
she  would  wish  to  have  died  when  the  intelligence  of  her 
husband's  death  first  reached  her.  He  was  now  the  only 
tie  that  bound  her  to  earth  —  he  was  all  to  live  for. 

Arthur  seemed  at  once  to  appreciate  the  doubly-near 
relation  he  occupied  toward  his  mother,  since  his  father's 
death.  He  was  both  son  and  protector,  and  cheerfully  he 
set  to  work  to  provide  for  her  support  and  aid  her  in  all 
the  domestic  labors.  These,  with  their  difficulties  to  one 
so  young,  sometimes  almost  entirely  devolved  upon  him, 
on  account  of  her  illness.  Eut  he  managed  remarkablj^ 
well.  Many  grown  persons  would  not  have  done  much 
better. 

As  the  war  progressed,  everything  in  the  way  of  needful 
articles  of  clothing  and  provisions,  commanded  the  most 
fabulous  prices.  The  consequence  was,  that  Mrs.  Murray 
soon  found  the  little  available  funds  left  Arthur  and  herself 
exhausted.  Several  articles  of  furniture  had  already  been 
sold  to  supply  pressing  wants.  They  owned  a  valuable 
cow  and  calf.  Arthur  proposed  to  his  mother  to  allow 
him  to  sell  the  milk,  for  which  there  was  a  great  demand 
in  the  city.  To  this  she  consented,  and  from  day  to  day 
Arthur  vended  his  milk,  bringing  home  in  return  a  small 
purse  of  money,  which  was  found  sufficient  to  purchase  ne- 


286  ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE   UERO. 

cessaiy  supplies.  In  this  way,  the  cow,  "  Old  Cherry," 
and  calf,  "  Little  Dun,"  as  Arthur  called  them,  proved  their 
most  valuable  property,  and  soon  became  their  main  de- 
pendence. Of  course,  Arthur  was  very  much  attached  to 
them.  He  fed  them  with  his  own  hands,  and  they,  in  turn, 
seemed  equally  attached  to  their  little  master,  and  mani- 
fested, in  their  dumb  way,  as  animals  often  do  for  those  who 
are  kind  to  them,  a  fondness  for  his  presence,  and  gratitude 
for  his  attentions. 

"  Little  Dun  "  was  his  only  'pet,  and  he  was  constantly 
playing  pranks  with  him.  They  seemed  thoroughly  to 
understand  each  other  in  their  tricks  and  sports. 

We  are  always  sure  to  admire  the  boy  or  girl  who  never 
wantonly  hurts  one  of  God's  creatures  however  insignificant 
They  were  given  us  for  our  use  and  pleasure,  and  not  abuse. 
To  maltreat  them  is  vicious  and  sinful.  It  is  an  evidence 
of  goodness  of  heart  to  deal  with  them  kindly,  and  there 
is  not  unfrequently  an  inexplicable  semi-human  sort  of  af- 
fection shown  by  those  dumb-creatures  for  their  friends  — 
something  more  than  mere  animal  instinct.  The  large 
Newfoundland  romping  on  the  green  with  his  little  mistress, 
will  allow  no  one  to  touch  her  without  her  consent ;  and 
this  he  can  tell  by  the  glance  of  her  eye.  If  a  friend,  he 
is  at  once  as  playful  as  ever,  and  on  the  best  of  terms  with 
him ;  but  if  an  enemy,  he  growls  fiercely,  and  springs  to 
her  side,  interposing  himself  as  a  formidable  barrier  to  fur- 
ther approach. 

On  the  morning  when  the  terrible  bombardment  which 
we  have  attempted  to  describe  began,  Mrs.  Murray  was  con- 
fined to  her  bed.  She  had  been  ill  for  some  time  with  a 
slow,  wasting  fever,  leaving  her  extremely  nervous  and 
debilitated.  Her  dwelling,  like  every  other  in  the  city  and 
its  environs,  was  pierced  in  various  places  with  cannon  balls. 
No  less  than  twenty  distinct  holes  could  be  counted  in  it, 
and  every  window  was  shattered  and  broken  to  pieces. 
At  one  time  a  shell  came  crashing,  with  its  vile,  hissing 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  287 

sound,  through  the  wall,  shivering  the  post  of  the  bed  on 
which  Mrs.  Murray  was  lying,  and  throwing  her  violently 
on  the  floor.  Arthur,  standing  by  her  side,  narrowly  es- 
caped. His  hair  was  singed  by  the  burning  fuse,  and  he 
fell  unconscious  from  the  shock.  Fortunately,  the  terrible 
missile,  before  exploding,  passed  out  through  the  wall  on 
the  opposite  side,  doing  no  other  damage  than  tearing  away 
a  large  portion  of  the  front  porch.  Arthur,  as  soon  as  he 
recovered  himself,  assisted  his  mother,  as  well  as  he  was 
able,  into  an  adjoining  room,  when  he  endeavored  to  calm 
her  alarms  by  telling  her  that  he  knew  "  God  would  take 
care  of  them  through  the  rest  of  the  fight,  as  he  had  just 
been  so  kind  in  sparing  their  lives."  He  frequently  ex- 
pressed the  wish,  "  that  his  mother  was  well  enough  to 
allow  him  to  go  and  fight  too  —  that  he  was  big  enough 
to  defend  his  own  home." 

In  the  midst  of  the  heaviest  fire,  a  solid  shot  unhinged 
the  door  of  the  corn-shed  and  tore  into  splinters  several 
of  the  planks.  The  frightened  cow  and  calf,  finding  the 
door  open,  ran  off  across  the  fields.  Arthur,  seeing  them, 
started  quickly  in  pursuit.  The  ground  was  being  con- 
stantly plowed  up,  and  shells  were  every  moment  bursting 
overhead  ;  their  whizzing  fragments  striking  near  him, 
but  he  thought  not  of  his  own  danger.  Unluckily,  the  cow 
and  calf  turned  down  across  an  open  field,  towards  the 
river,  where,  on  the  opposite  side,  the  enemy  had  a  line  of 
infantry  concealed  behind  the  bank.  He  did  not  overtake 
them  until  within  range  of  the  fire.  Several  shots  were 
sent  at  him,  and  he  heard  them  go  singing  by  his  ears ; 
but  he  did  not  stop.  Once,  meeting  with  some  obstacle, 
he  tumbled  headlong  on  the  ground  ;  he  heard  a  yell ;  for 
the  Yankees  evidently  thought  they  had  killed  the  little 
"  rebel."  But  they  had  neither  hurt  nor  frightened  him. 
Up  and  on  his  way  in  an  instant,  he  reached  his  cow  and 
calf  who,  recognizing  the  voice  of  their  little  master,  knew 
that  a  friend  was  near,  and  at  once  became  docile.     In  a 


288  ARTHUR   MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

few  minutes  he  had  driven  back  and  again  fastened  them 
securely  iu  the  cow-shed.  On  his  return  he  found  his 
mother  very  much  excited  on  account  of  his  absence,  and 
when  he  recounted  the  risk  he  had  run  in  recovering  "  Old 
Cherry  "  and  "  Little  Dun,"  she  would  not  permit  him  to 
leave  the  house  again  during  the  day. 

As  it  began  to  grow  dark,  the  bombardment,  which  had 
been  so  fierce  and  continuous  throughout  the  day,  almost 
entirely  ceased.  Only  a  few  shells  went  screaming  through 
the  air,  directed  at  dark  bodies  of  moving  troops  on  the 
hill-tops,  which  were  growing  dim  and  indistinct. 

"While  every  one  else  was  leaving  the  city,  Arthur  suc- 
ceeded in  making  arrangements  for  his  mother  to  occupy 
a  place  in  a  neighbor's  cart.  Helping  her  in,  and  jDlacing 
her  upon  a  bed  propped  up  with  pillows,  Arthur  told  her 
not  to  be  uneasy  about  him,  that  he  would  remain  for  a 
few  moments  to  close  the  doors  of  the  house,  and  get  a 
few  articles  which,  in  their  haste,  had  been  forgotten,  and 
that  he  would  soon  overtake  them. 

Arthur  was  thinking  of  his  cow  and  calf.  He  was  not 
willing  to  leave  "  Old  Cherry  "  and  "  Little  Dun  "  to  fall 
into  the  hands  of  the  Yankees,  to  be  butchered.  He  was 
their  friend  and  protector,  and  it  would  be  base  ingratitude 
to  abandon  them  to  such  a  fate  without  an  effort  to  save 
them. 

But  could  he  drive  them  ?  It  was  extremely  cold,  and 
the  road  would  be  crowded.  He  could  at  least  try,  and  so 
resolving,  he  went  to  the  cow-shed,  called  them  by  name, 
and  opened  the  door.  They  walked  quietly  out,  as  if 
thoroughly  understanding  the  danger  they  were  in,  and 
what  their  little  master  wanted  with  them.  In  a  short 
time  they  were  on  the  road  in  the  mixed-up  throng.  Our 
"  Little  Hero  "  was  driving  them.  It  was  his  voice  we 
heard  at  the  conclusion  of  the  first  chapter. 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  289 


CIIAPTEE   III. 

Standing  in  a  grove  of  oaks,  a  few  yards  to  the  left  of 
the  plank  road,  four  miles  from  Fredericksburg,  is  a  small 
brick  chapel.  It  is  but  one  story  high.  A  narrow  gal- 
lery, after  the  old  fashion,  is  above  the  entrance,  and  ex- 
tends, on  each  side,  towards  the  pulpit.  This  gallery  is 
reached  from  a  small  steep  stairway  from  the  vestibule  . 
The  brick  of  which  the  house  is  built,  are  of  a  deep  red, 
and  have  an  antiquated  look,  as  if  washed  for  years  by 
heavy  rains. 

Salem  Church,  as  it  is  called,  is  well  known  to  the  Army 
of  Northern  Virginia,  and  will  occupy  a  place  in  history. 
All  the  private  residences  in  the  surrounding  country  were 
filled  to  overflowing,  and  several  families  were  compelled 
to  take  refuge  here.  Among  these  unfortunates,  was  Mrs. 
Murray,  who  arrived  about  daylight,  on  the  morning  af- 
ter the  bombardment.  Her  sufferings  during  the  removal 
were  very  great,  but  she  bore  them  uncomplainingly,  and 
seemed  only  uneasy  about  Arthur,  until  he  overtook  her, 
and  explained  the  cause  of  his  remaining  behind. 

It  is  difficult  to  conceive  of  the  confusion  and  extreme 
unpleasantness  of  a  dozen  or  more  families,  probably  en- 
tire strangers  to  each  other,  crowded  together  in  the  same 
room,  each  in  the  other's  way ;  and  where,  even  the  priva- 
cy of  the  toilette  could  not  be  respected.  But,  when  is 
added  to  the  embarrassment  of  such  a  situation,  hunger, 
cold,  and  almost  utter  destitution,  and  this  too,  of  those 
who  never  knew  before  of  want ;  a  picture  of  deepest  and 
most  pitiable  misery  is  exhibited. 

Could  this  humble  structure,  dedicated  to  the  worship 
of  God,  then  sheltering  these.  His  poor  and  wretched  crea- 
tures, tell  all  that  has  transpired  within  and  around  its 
sacred  walls,  its  story  would  be  equally  as  wonderful  as 
some  of  those  told  of  the  ancient  abbeys,  churches  and 
13 


290  ARTHUR   MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

castles  of  the  old  world,  and  as  full  of  strange  contrasts. 

On  a  bright  and  lovely  Sabbath  morning,  the  3rd  of 
May,  1863,  when  the  trees  were  beginning  to  bud.  and  the 
birds  to  sing  ;  at  the  very  hour  when  those  who  had  rear- 
ed the  temple  of  the  Most  High,  in  days  of  peace,  had  been 
accustomed  to  meet  together,  to  offer  up  to  Him  their 
prayers  of  thanksgiving  for  the  blessings  and  comforts 
everywhere  around  them,  it  was  the  scene  of  terrible 
slaughter.  Prayers  and  songs  of  praise  were  hushed.  In 
their  stead,  sounded  the  clash  of  arras,  the  din  of  deadly 
strife,  man  against  his  fellow-man.  Demons  from  the  in- 
ferno seemed  to  have  taken  the  place  of  the  quiet  worship- 
pers of  God.  The  sacred  ground  was  metamorphosed 
into  an  arena  of  hellish  combat,  where  devils  were  strug- 
gling in  fury  and  flame.  Even  the  consecrated  altar  was 
stained  with  the  blood  of  a  sharp-shooter,  who  fell,  strick- 
en dead  upon  it,  and  his  heart's  blood  spattered  the  sa- 
cred desk. 

The  bride,  in  pure  white,  had  stood  blushing  here  ;  the 
Holy  Sacrament  had  been  administered  here ;  the  baptismal 
ceremonies  had  been  performed  here ;  the  young,  cut 
down  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  and  the  aged  pious  of  the 
Church,  had  lain  here,  before  being  consigned  to  their  last 
resting-place,  while  solemn  anthems  were  chanted  and  the 
congregation  wept.  Now,  blood  shed  by  the  hand  of  vio- 
lence, and  a  grinning,  ghastly  corjDse  upon  which  had  been 
left  the  impress  of  the  anguished,  writhing  spirit  that  had 
been  torn  from  its  clay  tabernacle,  was  upon  it. 

On  no  part  of  the  line  from  Chancellorsville  to  Freder- 
icksburg, was  the  position  more  desperately  contested,  or 
the  engagement  more  sanguinary  while  it  continued.  It 
was  at  Salem  Church  that  G-en.  Wilcox,  commanding  a 
brigade  of  Alabamians,  held  a  superior  force  of  the  enemy, 
consisting  of  New  York  troops,  in  check  for  several  hours. 
For  some  time,  the  result  of  the  conflict  was  doubtful. 
Both  sides  fought  with  obstinacy  and  courage.     The  lines 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  291 

wavered  alternately.  First  one  and  then  the  other  gave 
back,  but  instantl}^  to  press  forward  and  regain  the  lost 
ground.  At  length  reinforcements  coining  up  to  Wilcox, 
the  enemy  were  driven  from  the  field,  leaving  him  in  pos- 
session of  their  wounded  and  dead.  In  evidence  of  the 
fierceness  of  this  battle,  a  trench  containing  more  than  a 
hundred  of  the  Federal  dead  —  killed  outright  on  the  spot, 
'extends  across  the  church-yard,  and  the  building  is  marked 
on  all  sides  by  minie  balls,  with  here  and  there  holes 
made  by  solid  shot,  grape  and  shell.  The  scarred  trees, 
too,  bear  testimony  to  the  fierceness  of  the  iron  storm  that 
raged  among  them. 

For  several  days  after  the  battle,  the  church  was  used 
as  a  hospital  for  the  Yankee  wounded.  The  shrieks  and 
groans  of  the  sufferers,  who  lay  in  piles  on  the  blood  cov- 
ered floor,  were  very  touching.  It  was  then  I  made  my 
last  visit  to  Salem  Church.  Arms  and  legs,  freshly  ampu- 
tated, obstructed  the  door  of  the  sanctuary  :  it  was  indeed 
a  sickening  sight.     But  to  return  to  our  story. 

Had  Mrs.  Murray  been  carried  to  a  warm  and  comfort- 
able room,  where  she  could  have  received  proper  attention, 
she  might  have  recovered.  But  here,  with  neither,  with- 
out a  moment  of  quiet  slumber  and  rest,  she  grew  rapidly 
worse,  and  was  soon  too  feeble  to  raise  her  head  from  her 
pallet,  on  the  cold,  hard  floor.  Arthur  saw  the  change 
daily  taking  place  in  the  wasted  form  and  pale  face  of  his 
mother.  As  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  he  saw  that  all  hope 
and  animation  had  fled,  leaving  in  their  stead,  a  deep  and 
settled  sadness  —  that  their  watery  tears,  the  result  of  ex- 
treme debility  and  heart-grief,  now  constantly  suftused 
them,  imparting  a  sickly  lustre,  and  he  felt  a  vague  sort  of 
fear,  that  some  great  evil  was  about  to  befall  him.  In 
some  way  this  apprehension  seemed  associated  with  his 
mother,  but  his  mind  was  unprepared  for  its  event  —  the 
saddest  that  ever  occurs  in  this  life.  Somehow,  he  did  not 
comprehend  the  fact,  that  he  was  about  to  be  left  mother- 
lees;  that  she,  too,  was  about  to  die  —  to  leave  him. 


292  ARTHUR*  MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

To  supply  her  Avith  necessary  food  and  medicines,  after 
exhausting  every  other  means,  Arthur  sold  his  cow  and 
calf  to  a  commissary.  He  said  not  a  word  against  parting 
with  them,  since  it  was  for  his  mother's  benefit ;  in  fact,  he 
first  proposed  it,  but  as  they  were  driven  away  by  a  squad  of 
soldiers,  he  could  not  avoid  shedding  some  bitter  tears,  si- 
lent and  alone,  as  he  looked  at  "  Old  Cherry  "  and  "Little 
Dun  "  for  the  last  time,  and  thought  of  his  pets  going  to 
the  slaughter-pen.  It  was  hard  to  give  them  up.  He  had 
risked  his  life  once  to  save  them,  and,  after  all,  they  must 
go.  He  could  never  forget  the  look  they  gave  him  from 
their  large,  clear,  innocent  eyes,  as  if  to  inquire,  why 
rough  men  were  standing  around  them  with  whips  and 
ropes  ?  But  as  their  little  master,  who  had  always  been 
so  kind  to  them,  was  near,  they  allowed  themselves  to  be 
started  off.  Several  times,  however,  finding  he  did  not  ac- 
company them,  they  made  efforts  to  turn  back  to  him. 

A  month  passed  away,  and  Arthur  had  never  left  his 
mother's  side,  not  even  to  visit  his  home  in  Fredericks- 
burg. He  was  anxious  to  go  back,  and  if  all  had  not  been 
destroyed,  bring  away  a  few  things  which  his  mother 
needed.  It  was  early  in  the  morning,  when,  before  start- 
ing, he  placed  his  arms  affectionately  around  his  mother's 
neck  and  kissed  her.  She  seemed  better  —  much  better 
than  usual.  It  was  only  the  exhilaration  caused  by  the 
last  effort  of  nature,  before  the  patient  expires.  He  could 
not  know  that  the  life-blood  was  already  leaving  the  ex- 
tremities and  gathering  towards  the  heart,  which  would 
soon  cease  to  beat,  and  that  she  was  even  then  growing 
cold  in  death.  He  thought  her  hand  felt  like  ice,  as  she 
clasped  his  own,  and  held  it  for  a  long  time,  before  return- 
ing his  Iviss,  and  bidding  him  good-bye ;  but  this  did  not 
alarm  him.  But  something  she  said  to  him,  gave  him 
great  uneasiness.  Frequently  while  on  the  way,  tears 
started  in  his  eyes,  and  he  thought  to  turn  back,  but  then 
he  would  say :  "  I  can  soon  go  and  return,  and  then  I  will 


ARTHUR   MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  293 

not  leave  mother  again  until  she  gets  well."  But  still 
these  words  would  trouble  him :  "  I  must  soon  leave  you, 
Arthur.  Father  is  waiting  in  heaven  for  me.  Don't  cry 
and  grieve  when  I  am  gone.  Think  of  us,  and  be  a  good 
boy.  Some  day  you  will  come  to  us,  and  we  will  all  be 
happy  together."  As  a  death-knell  they  rang  in  his  ears, 
at  every  step.  A  brisk  walk  of  two  hours  brought  him  to 
his  home.  He  had  not  seen  it  since  the  night  of  the  bom- 
bardment. Could  it  be  the  same  place  he  had  called  his 
home  but  a  month  ago  ?  Everything  was  so  changed. 
Around  and  upon  it  every  where,  desolation  was  written. 
A  burial-place  could  not  have  looked  more  solemn.  Where 
the  little  garden  once  smiled  with  its  neat  and  pretty  beds, 
was  now  a  fenceless  blank.  Beneath  the  footsteps  of  the 
invader,  all  had  been  crushed  and  trampled  into  the  earth. 
Not  even  a  tree  or  a  shrub  remained.  Even  the  little  rose- 
bush which  Arthur  had  planted  and  nurtured  with  his 
own  hands,  so  tenderly,  in  the  corner  of  the  yard,  was 
uprooted,  and  in  its  place  was  the  grave  of  a  private  of  a 
Massachusetts  regiment.  His  body,  but  a  few  inches  be- 
neath the  sod,  filled  the  air  with  a  sickening  stench.  The 
pailings,  which  had  enclosed  the  front  yard,  and  which  he 
thought  so  pretty,  were  nearly  all  torn  oflP,  and  the  few 
that  remained,  looked  like  the  broken  and  shattered  ranks 
of  an  army,  after  a  great  battle.  As  he  walked,  with 
heavy  heart,  about  the  premises,  he  found  himself  near  the 
cow-shed.  He  opened  the  door,  and  it  looked  so  vacant  j 
''Old  Cherry"  and  "Little  Dun"  were  not  there.  He 
thought  of  their  fate,  and  sat  down  and  took  a  hearty  cry. 
He  entered  the  house.  It  looked  like  a  perforated  honey- 
comb. He  stood  in  his  mother's  room ;  the  walls  looked 
so  very  drear  and  vacant.  He  started,  as  if  with  sudden 
fright  at  the  echo  of  his  own  footsteps;  there  was  some- 
thing so  strange  and  grave-like  in  them.  He  recalled  the 
day  of  the  bombardment;  he  could  hear  the  screaming 
of  the  shells  and  the  deafening  roar  of  the  heavy  guns. 


294  ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE   HERO. 

There  was  the  hole  made  by  the  vile  shell  which  "  came  so 
near  killing  mother  "  and  himself. 

Old  memories,  too,  came  thronging  up.  There  was  the 
hearth.  Here  is  where  mother  used  to  sit,  when  the  fire 
cracked  and  burned  so  cheerfully  at  evening.  He  had  of- 
ten knelt  by  her  side  there,  and  said  his  prayers.  On  the 
other  side  father  used  to  sit  in  his  arm-chair.  He  remem- 
bered how  he  looked,  reading  his  paper.  He  turned  to  the 
door.  There  was  where  he  saw  father  for  the  last  time. 
He  was  dressed  in  soldier-clothes,  and  kissed  mother  and 
himself  as  he  went  off;  and  mother  cried,  and  so  did  he. 
That  seemed  a  long  time  ago,  and  he  did  not  know  what 
sorrow  was  then.  Father  was  dead,  and  would  not  come 
back  again ;  but  would  mother  ever  return  and  live  with 
him,  happy  in  their  little  home,  as  they  once  were  ?  Some- 
thing seemed  to  whisper  that  she  would  not,  and  he 
thought  of  what  she  had  said  to  him  in  the  morning. 
This  troubled  him,  and  he  turned  off  hastily  to  finish  his 
visit. 

He  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  her  side;  she  might  be 
needing  him.  I  will  steal  a  parting  glance  at  my  own  lit- 
tle room,  thought  he.  It,  at  any  rate,  will  remind  me  of 
the  happy  days  of  my  infancy,  when  my  heart  beat  so  joy- 
ous and  free  ;  it,  at  any  rate,  will  look  familiar  and  pleas- 
ant. Oh,  horrible  !  A  dreadful  stench  greeted  him  as  he 
opened  the  door.  The  floor  was  stained  with  blood,  and 
covered  with  bandages  and  rags.  The  soldier  that  had 
been  buried  in  the  yard,  had  died  there,  after  undergoing 
a  surgical  operation.  An  amputated  leg,  with  large  flies 
buzzing  about  it,  still  lay  there.  He  rushed  away  from 
such  a  repulsive  and  sickening  sight. 

As  he  passed  out,  he  discovered  a  small  kettle  drum, 
which  a  Yankee  had  secreted  under  the  doorsteps.  This 
he  took  and  carried  along,  determined  to  keep  it,  until  he 
should  become  old  enough  to  be  a  soldier  himself. 

AYearied  by  his  hurried  walk,   he   returned  to  Salem 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO.  295 

Church  about  mid-day.  Two  ladies,  who  were  strangers 
to  him,  were  standing  in  the  door,  as  he  reached  it.  He 
waited  a  moment  for  them  to  make  room  for  him  to  pass, 
and  this  gave  him  opportunity  to  observe  them  somewhat 
closely.  Freshly  threaded  needles,  with  long  streaming 
white  threads,  were  sticking  in  the  bosoms  of  their  dress- 
es. One  of  them  had  a  thimble  on  her  finger,  and  a  pair 
of  scissors  hung  suspended  from  her  apron  belt.  They 
were  discussing  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  piece  of  white 
cambric  which  they  held  in  their  hands.  As  he  went  in, 
they  whispered  to  him  to  "  walk  softly." 

He  started  back  !  His  mother's  pallet  had  been  remov- 
ed. Her  lifeless  form,  enveloped  in  a  white  sheet,  reposed 
on  a  wide  board,  resting  on  two  chairs.  She  had,  shortly 
after  Arthur's  departure  in  the  morning,  breathed  out  her 
pure  spirit  into  the  hands  of  Grod  who  gave  it. 

Arthur  was  alone;  fatherless,  motherless;  a  houseless, 
penniless,  friendless  orphan.  The  sense  of  utter  loneliness 
which  haunted  his  mind,  rose  like  a  mountain,  and  crushed 
his  very  heart,  before  tears  could  gather  in  his  eyes.  He 
did  not  burst  into  passionate  grief.  His  sorrow  was  too 
deep,  too  bitter,  for  outward  demonstration.  He  felt  that 
he,  too,  wanted  to  die.  He  could  not  bear  the  thought  of 
being  left  without  a  friend  —  with  no  one  to  love  or  care 
for  him.  He  kissed  the  cold,  pale,  blue  hand,  that  lay  mo- 
tionless by  her  side.  He  turned  down  the  white  sheet 
that  covered  her  face.  He  looked  but  a  moment.  Oh,  no, 
it  cannot  be  mother!  Those  eyes  dreadfully  staring  from 
their  sockets,  the  purple  lips,  the  ash-tinged  cheeks? 
Oh,  no,  mother  did  not  look  so.  He  fell  down  by  the 
bier,  and  lay  unconscious  of  all  around  him. 

Man  has  his  misery  and  suffering  in  this  world ;  woman 
has  hers  ;  but  child-grief  should  excite  the  deepest  sympa- 
thy and  commiseration.  It  is  the  struggle  of  the  tender 
young  soul,  pure  as  it  came  from  the  hands  of  its  Maker, 
with  sin,  and  sorrow,  and  blackness.     The  world  trea^^' 


296  ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO. 

the  orphan  and  outcast  harshly ;  but  God,  who  "  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb,"  has  promised  to  be  their 
friend. 


CHAPTEE   IV. 

Having  reached  the  last  chapter  of  our  story,  we  will 
not  pause  to  attempt  a  description  of  Arthur's  feelings 
after  his  mother's  burial,  nor  of  his  destitute  condition. 
Similar  tales  of  suffering,  caused  by  this  unhappy  war, 
might  be  told  by  the  thousand;  we  therefore,  hasten  to  the 
conclusion. 

A  few  days  before  the  battle  of  Chancellorsville,  a  boy, 
just  in  his  eleventh  year,  but  remarkably  frail  for  even 
that  age,  with  pale  and  sickly  face,  made  his  appearance 
before  the  tent  of  the  Colonel  of  the  Yirginia  regi- 
ment, encamped  near  Spottsylvania  Court  House.  A  bun- 
dle rested  on  his  back,  a  small  kettle-drum  was  suspended 
by  a  cord  across  his  shoulders.  He  bore  with  him  all  he 
possessed  in  the  world ;  and  his  ragged  clothes  and  bare 
feet  indicated  extreme  poverty.  The  bundle  contained  a 
threadbare  shirt,  a  worn  out  jacket,  a  pair  of  patched  pants, 
and,  most  valuable  of  all,  a  pocket  bible,  upon  the  fly-leaf 
of  which  was  written,  in  a  feminine  hand,  *•'  Mary  Mur- 
ray," and  an  old-fashioned  daguerreotype  picture  of  his 
father  and  mother,  taken  shortlj^  after  their  marriage. 
These  he  often  took  out,  when  alone,  and  bedewed  with 
tears.  They  were  all  that  were  left  now,  to  remind  him 
of  those  whose  memory  was  so  dear  to  him,  and  of  the 
happier  days  of  his  early  childhood.  With  what  a  sacred 
care  he  preserved  them  !  The  drum  will  be  recognized  as 
the  same  which  Arthur  had  found  under  the  doorsteps,  on 
his  last  visit  to  Fredericksburg,  and  the  little  boy  as  Ar- 
thur himself. 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR    LITTLE    HERO.  297 

He  told  the  Colonel  that  he  wanted  to  be  a  soldier;  that 
his  father  belonged  to  his  regiment  before  he  was  killed, 
and  that  he  had  come  to  take  his  place.  The  Colonel 
could  scarce  have  suppressed  a  smile,  as  he  looked  down 
at  the  delicate  being  before  him,  from  whom  this  bold 
speech  proceeded ;  but  there  was  something  so  strange,  so 
melancholy  in  the  manner,  so  determined  in  the  flash  of 
the  little  speaker's  deep  blue  eyes,  that  he  stood  regarding 
him  for  a  moment  with  intense  curiosity.  He  at  once  felt 
an  interest  in  his  history. 

The  Colonel,  who  was  not  only  a  valiant  soldier,  but  a 
good  and  kind-hearted  man,  offered  to  give  him  money  to 
supply  his  wants,  but  told  him  that  it  would  be  wrong  to 
permit  one  so  young  to  enter  the  military  service ;  that 
he  could  not  endure  its  hardships. 

At  the  thought  of  being  turned  off,  tears  gathered  in 
Arthur's  eyes,  but  he  brushed  them  away  with  his  tatter- 
ed sleeve,  and  straightening  himself  up  with  as  stout  a 
heart  as  he  could,  he  replied  "  that  it  was  a  soldier  and 
not  a  beggar  he  wanted  to  be,  and  could  not  take  the 
money  ;  and  as  to  the  hardships,  he  never  expected  to  see 
greater  than  he  had  already  experienced,  and  if  he  was 
not  big  enough  to  carry  a  musket  and  fight,  he  had  brought 
his  drum  along,  and  could  beat  that."  Here  he  paused  a 
moment,  and  the  thought  occurred  to  him  that  by  showing 
his  proficiency  as  a  drummer,  he  might  not,  after  all,  be 
rejected.  He  had  learned  nearly  all  the  "calls,"  from 
hearing  them  so  frequently  beat  in  the  neighboring  camps. 
Seizing  the  sticks,  he  sounded  the  "  long  roll  "  in  a  dashing 
style,  then  turned  to  the  Colonel,  and  in  a  confident  voice, 
said:  "Now,  Colonel,  you  see  I  can  beat  the  drum,  let  me 
join,  if  you  please.  I  will  promise  to  be  always  at  my 
post."  The  Colonel  told  him  that  he  "  would  give  him  an 
answer  after  breakfast,"  which  was  at  that  moment  an- 
nounced. He  made  Arthur  partake  of  his  camp-fare  with 
him,  and  while  at  the  table,  in  answer  to  his  questions, 
13* 


298  ARTHUR   MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

he   related   the   tale    of  his   sufferings,    familiar    to    the 
reader. 

Breakfast  over,  the  Colonel  called  to  his  Orderly,  and 
directed  him  to  request  the  Captain  of  Company  G,  to 
walk  up  to  his  head-quarters.  After  a  short  consultation, 
in  which  Arthur  frequently  heard  the  name  of  his  father 
mentioned,  the  Colonel  called  him  and  introduced  him  to  the 
Captain,  as  "  the  brave-hearted  little  man  that  wanted  to 
ba  a  soldier."  The  Captain  took  him  by  the  hand,  in  a 
very  kind  manner,  and  told  him  that  his  name  should  be 
placed  upon  the  muster-roll,  and  that  now  he  was  a  sol- 
dier, and  belonged  to  the  company  and  regiment  his  father 
once  did.  Arthur's  joy  knew  no  bounds  ;  he  thanked  the 
Colonel  and  Captain,  over  and  over,  for  allowing  him  to  be 
a  soldier.  He  had  taken  his  father's  place ;  there  was  a 
mission  before  him ;  his  heart  swelled  with  pride,  a  new 
feeling  had  been  awakened  in  it ;  he  grew  taller  and  lar- 
ger; his  hopes  were  realized:  he  was  happy. 

As  he  had  promised,  Arthur  was  always  at  his  post.  Dur- 
ing the  battle  of  Chaiicellorsville,  he  was  with  his  regiment 
as  it  was  going  into  action  ;  minie  balls  were  flying  thickly 
around,  and  his  drum  was  struck  in  several  places.  The 
Colonel,  happening  to  pass  near  the  line  where  he  was,  and 
seeing  him,  turned  quickly  to  his  Adjutant  and  exclaimed: 
"  See  our  little  hero,  marching  with  as  bold  a  front  as  if 
he  were  the  stoutest  veteran  in  the  ranks.  It  is  a  pity  to 
have  such  a  child  unnecessarily  sacrificed ;  he  can  be  of  no 
service  here  :  order  him  to  the  rear !  "  The  Adjutant  rode 
up  to  Arthur,  and  directed  him  to  remain  at  the  field  infir- 
mary until  the  fight  was  over.  He  begged  to  be  allowed 
to  go  on,  but  the  Adjutant  repeated  the  command.  His 
sparkling  eyes  and  face  which  glowed  with  animation  the 
moment  before,  now  bore  a  look  of  extreme  disappoint- 
ment. He  gazed  sadly  at  the  line  as  it  advanced  with 
shouts  and  flying  colors,  leaving  him  behind.  He  felt  it 
was  his  duty  to  be  with  them,  and  could  not  understand 
why  he  had  been  sent  back. 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR  LITTLE    HERO.  299 

These  disagreeable  feelings  left  him,  however,  when  he 
reached  the  hospital.  The  wounded  were  already  being 
brought  in,  and  every  minute  he  found  something  to  do 
for  the  poor  sufferers.  Besides  assisting  in  several  ampu- 
tations, by  holding  the  instruments  for  the  Surgeons, 
he  at  one  time  accompanied  the  litter-bearers  to  the  front, 
carrying  a  canteen  of  water  to  moisten  the  parched  lips 
of  the  wounded  and  dying,  fearless  of  the  danger  to  which 
he  was  exposed. 

By  his  noble  conduct  in  this  battle,  Arthur  won  the 
gratitude  of  many  a  poor  fellow,  and  became  a  universal 
favorite  with  his  regiment,  and  afterwards  went  by  the 
sobriquet  which  had  been  given  him  by  the  Colonel  — 
"Our  Little  Hero."    ■ 

As  a  general  thing,  small  boys,  on  entering  the  service, 
are  put  forward  and  so  much  petted  by  those  older  than 
themselves,  that  they  are  soon  spoiled,  and  acquire  among 
others,  that  most  disgusting  vice,  profanity,  so  common  in 
the  army.  This  was  not  the  case,  however,  with  Arthur. 
He  had  not  forgotten  to  treasure  in  his  heart,  the  teach- 
ings of  a  pious  mother,  or  to  read  his  bible;  and,  braver 
than  most  grown  men,  he  was  not  ashamed  to  be  found 
on  his  knees,  saying  his  prayers.  Among  his  stern  com- 
rades, he  was  respected  as  much  from  the  purity  of  his 
character  and  Christian  example,  as  loved  for  his  unobtru- 
sive and  polite  manners.  The  Colonel  regarded  him  with 
the  affection  of  a  father ;  furnished  him  with  a  new  and 
pretty  uniform,  and  kept  him  most  of  the  time  at  his 
headquarters.  He  became  so  much  attached  to  his  lit- 
tle protege  that  he  contemplated  taking  him  home  to  live 
with  him  when  the  war  was  over,  adopting  him  as  his 
son. 

On  the  Pennsylvania  Campaign,  to  relieve  Arthur  from 
the  fatigue  of  the  long,  weary  marches,  which  he  would 
have  been  unable  to  undergo  on  foot,  the  Colonel  bought 
him  a  horse  with  handsome  new  trappings,  and  made  him 


300  ARTHUR    MURRAY,    OUR   LITTLE    HERO. 

an  orderly.  At  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  he  permitted 
him  to  go  with  him  into  the  action  on  the  second  day. 
On  the  third,  late  in  the  afternoon,  the  last  charge  was 
to  be  made  against  the  "  Eound  Top."'  Arthur,  who 
escaped  uuhurt  on  the  day  before,  again  insisted  upon  ac- 
companying the  Colonel,  who  could  not  refuse  his  earnest 
entreaties.  Unfortunately,  during  the  charge,  he  was 
struck  by  a  fragment  of  a  shell  on  the  left  arm,  near  the 
shoulder.  The  flesh  was  almost  entirely  torn  from  the 
bone,  which  was  broken  in  several  places,  making  a  ghast- 
ly wound.  He  fell  from  his  horse,  violently,  upon  the 
o-round.  On  recovering  his  senses,  he  found  himself  desert- 
ed and  alone.  The  storm  of  battle  was  hushed,  and  a 
heavy  sulphurous  cloud  rested  upon  the  plain.  Stars  were 
beginning  to  twinkle  through  the  darkness  above.  In 
dim  outline  were  the  figures  of  those  who  had  fallen 
around  him.  The  death-rattle  and  moan  of  the  d^'ing 
floated  upon  the  night  breeze.  The  line,  when  he  was 
stricken  down,  had  swept  swiftly  past  to  the  onset,  and, 
unable  to  hold  the  position  they  had  taken,  had,  as  swiftly 
fallen  back,  leaving  him  between  the  contending  armies. 

Arthur  remembered  the  bursting  of  the  shell  near  him. 
He  looked  at  his  mangled  arm  and  tried  to  cry  for  help — 
for  a  drink  of  water,  for  he  was  burning  with  thirst. 
His  strength  failed,  his  blood  was  fast  leaving  him,  he 
was  deathly  sick ;  he  sank  back  again  upon  the  crimson 
turf 

When,  on  the  return  of  the  regiment,  the  "  Little  Hero" 
was  among  the  missing,  and  it  was  said  he  was  killed, 
great  sorrow  was  expressed  by  all.  Permission  was  asked 
of  the  Colonel  to  go  down  on  the  field  and  search  for  his 
body.  He  was  found,  after  a  brief  search,  in  a  pool  of 
dark  clotted  blood,  where  he  had  fallen,  apparently  dead. 
AYhen  it  was  ascertained  he  was  still  living,  large  crowds 
of  his  comrades  gathered  around  him,  and  tears  stood  in 
their  eyes.  Stout  arms  tenderly  bore  him  from  the  en- 
sanguined field. 


ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR   LITTLE   HERO.  301 

The  Surgeon  resolved  on  immediate  amputation.  The 
amputation-board,  repulsive  at  any  time,  in  the  case  of 
little  Arthur,  was  doubly  so.  Probably,  no  one  of  such 
tender  years,  during  the  war,  had  been  placed  upon  it,  to 
undergo  an  operation  for  wounds  received  in  battle.  The 
Colonel  stood  by  and  held  the  tender  arm,  while  it  was 
being  taken  oif.  He  looked  very  sad,  and  was  anxious  to 
do  anything  in  his  power  for  the  little  sufferer,  for  he  now 
began  to  upbraid  himself  for  permitting  him  to  go  into 
the  battle  at  all.  He  watched  over  him  with  the  utmost 
tenderness  during  the  night. 

Arthur  was  delirious.  He  imagined  his  mother  hover- 
ing near  him  ;  he  could  hear  the  rustling  of  her  dress,  like 
angels'  wings,  and  held  out  his  remaining  hand  to  catch  it 
in  his  grasp.  His  fingers  clenched  in  emptiness:  she 
was  gone.  Then,  in  a  voice  weak  and  plaintive,  but  full 
of  disappointment,  he  would  cry:  "  Come  hack,  mother! 
don't  leave  me !     Co7ne,  mother,  come  to  your  child  !  " 

Nearly  all  the  soldiei'S  in  the  regiment  came  to  see  him. 
Their  little  "  pet  "  was  dying.  It  was  evident  he  occupied 
a  place  in  their  affections  —  that  they  loved  him  as  their 
child. 

Late  in  the  afternoon,  for  a  moment,  his  senses  returned. 
It  was  the  bright  meteor-flash  of  light  and  consciousness 
which  precedes  the  flight  to  the  spirit-world.  He  asked 
the  Colonel  to  have  his  little  bundle  brought  from  the 
staff-wagon.  When  it  came,  he  begged  for  the  picture  of 
his  father  and  mother.  When  given  him,  kissing  it,  he 
said  to  the  Colonel :  ^^  Father  went  first,  mother  next,  and  I 
am  going  now !  Mother  said  we  would  all  be  happy  again  in 
Heaven !  '* 

But  a  moment,  and  his  words  were  verified;  for  the 
spirit  of  the  ''  Little  Hero  "  went  up  to  heaven  where  wars 
and  sorrow  are  not  known.  The  glaze  came  over  his 
eyes,  and  the  little  heart  pulsated  for  the  last  time  in  its 
delicate  casement,  as  the  red-tinged  rays  of  light  lingered 


302  ARTHUR    MURRAY,  OUR  LITTLE    HERO. 

among  the  trembling  foliage  of  the  forest  trees,  and  a  soli- 
tary bird,  bidding  adieu  to  departing  day,  chirped  and 
hopped  among  their  branches. 

During  the  night,  orders  were  given  to  fall  back.  A 
hole  was  dug  with  bayonets,  under  a  tall  elm,  by  the 
scarred  and  begrimed  warriors,  as  their  last  pious  service 
for  their  "  Little  Hero."  Tears  stole  down  their  bronzed 
cheeks,  as,  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  with  unusual  softness 
for  such  rough  hands,  they  affectionately  placed  his  lifeless 
and  fragile  form  in  its  earthly  bed. 

Hearts  steeled  against  emotions  of  pity,  from  long  fa- 
miliarity with  the  horrors  of  war,  were  moved  and  softened 
at  the  sad  and  touching  sight,  as  the  body,  with  the  arm 
which  had  been  severed  from  it,  were  enclosed  together ; 
and  a  tiny  mound  was  fashioned  over  the  grave  of  this 
pure  and  noble  child. 

Unless  trodden  underfoot  by  strangers,  or  obliterated 
and  swept  away,  by  the  pelting  rains  that  have  since  fall- 
en upon  it,  the  little  mound  may  still  be  seen,  marked  by  a 
fragment  of  board,  upon  which  was  carved  in  rude  letters, 
by  a  camp-fire,  these  words  : 

"Arthur  Murray, 

OUR 

Little  Hero." 


MY    SOUTHERN    HOME.  303 


ir  S0utl^cm  pinm^. 


COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


''  By  the  ruins  of  Babylon,  there  we  sat  down ;  yea,  we  wept  when  we 
remembered  Zion."— Psalms  cxxxvii. 

If  Judean  captives  sat  and  wept,  by  Babel's  river's  sides, 

As  memories  of  Zion  far  came  flowing  as  the  tides  ; 

If  on  the  willows  hung  their  harps,  when  asked  to  wake  a 

strain 
Of  Zion's  plaintive  melody,  on  Chaldea's  distant  plain. 

If  they  a  fearful  curse  invoked  uj)on  each  cunning  hand, 
Prayed  that  each  traitor-tongue  benumbed  might  paralytic 

stand. 
If  they  allowed  disloyalty  old  memories  to  destroy. 
If  they  held  not  Jerusalem  above  their  chiefest  joy  : 

Shall  I  not  weep,  Virginia's  hills,  her  slopes  and  grassy 

plains, 
Her  cities  and  her  villages  \  her  cottages  and  fanes  ; 
Her  sons  so  gallant,  chivalrous ;  her  bracing  mountain  air ; 
Her  daughters  pure  and  beautiful,  and  true  as  they  are  fair. 

Shall  not  my  harp  remain  unstrung,  the  captive  sing  no 

more  ? 
How  can  I  wake  the  minstrelsy  of  "  Old  Yirginia's  Shore  ?  " 
The  Swiss  may  pine  for  glaciers  wild,  the  Scot  for  glen 

and  lake. 
The  Sciote  for  Kis  Island  home,  where  maids  the  vintage 

make : 

I  pine  for  grand  old  mountains  far,  where  the  free  eagle's 

form 
Floats  dimly  in  the  upper  sky,  fierce  monarch  of  the  storm ; 


304  THE    VICTORY    OF    TRUTH. 

The  scenes  of  happy  boyhood's  years,  of  vigorous  man- 
hood's prime, 

Of  memories  that  shall  e'en  survive  the  with'ring  hand  of 
Time. 

For  there  a  sainted  mother  sleeps  beneath  the  grassy  sod, 
And  there's  my  darling  brother's  form,  red  with  his  young 

life's  blood, 
And  there  a  fond  and  gentle  wife  weeps  in  her  widowhood. 
And  there  a  gray-haired  father  mourns  the  loved  one's 

gone  to  God. 

A  curse,  then,  on  my  good  right  hand,  a  curse  upon  my 

tongue, 
If  I  forget  my  Southern  home  —  the   loins  of  which  I 

sprung; 
There  let  me  go  ;  my  heart  is  there  —  there  I  may  calmly 

die; 
Virginia's  turf  must  wrap  my  clay,  her  winds  my  requiem 

sigh ! 

Johnson's  Island^  September,  1864. 


CIj^  Widow  nf  ^n\il)> 


A  STORY  OF  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 


BY  COL.  WILLIAM  S.  HAWKINS. 


At  the  trumpet's  blast  the  gates  flew  open  wide, 

And  thousands  packed  the  court 
Before  the  Eoman  Lords  that  day, 

The  captives  furnished  sport. 


THE   VICTORY    OF   TRUTH.  305 

The  sun's  broad  orb  went  up  the  sky 

And  tipped  the  scene  with  gold, 
And  far  beyond  the  Claudian  way 

The  yellow  Tiber  rolled. 
The  gladiators  first  in  strife, 

Their  glittering  weapons  crossed  ; 
And  furious  then  in  mortal  surge 

The  waves  of  conflict  tossed. 
Strong  men  were  there,  whose  children  played 

By  Danube's  sluggish  tide, 
And  those  whose  homes  lay  sweet  and  fair 

Along  the  Taurus'  side  — 
Then  fierce-eyed  tigers  of  the  Lybian  wild 

Leaped  forth  into  the  cirque, 
And  spotted  leopards,  lithe  and  strong, 

Began  their  horrid  work ; 
And  howls  of  pain  and  yells  of  wrath. 

Filled  all  the  trembling  air, 
While  Eoman  Knights  applauded  low. 

And  smiled  the  Eoman  fair. 

At  length  the  heralds  far  proclaimed, 
"  The  last,  best  scene  of  all," 
And  led  a  Christian  martyr  forth 

In  fetters'  grievous  thrall — 
'No  youth  in  bold  and  manly  strength, 

No  feeble  gray-haired  sire) 
A  soft-eyed  maiden  sweet  and  pure. 

To  whet  a  lion's  ire. 
She  stood  with  timid  glance  cast  down, 

And  tremulous,  like  a  fawn, 
Which  baying  hounds  and  hunters  rude. 

Surround  at  hour  of  dawn ; 
One  white  hand  slowly  lifted  up 

The  cruel  galling  chain, 
While  one  pressed  close  her  beating  heart, 


306  THE   VICTORY   OF    TRUTH. 

For  there  was  grief  and  pain. 
She  thought  of  home  and  peaceful  joys  ; 

Of  her  Father,  strong  and  proud ; 
And  of  her  Mother's  faithful  love 

By  weight  of  misery  bowed. 
Of  her  sisters  and  her  brothers  fond, 

And  of  ONE  —  she  could  not  speak, 
But  at  the  slightest  thought  of  him 

A  blush  suffused  her  cheek. 

'Twas  thus  theyneax'ed  the  monster's  den, 

"With  triple  iron  bound  — 
Through  all  the  spectacles  his  might 

"With  bloodiest  triumphs  crowned, 
White,  his  large  teeth — and  dark  and  red 

His  yawning,  dreadful  throat. 
His  eyes  aflame,  and  thus  he  seemed 

On  his  new  prize  to  gloat ; 
He  rose  and  shook  his  bristling  mane, 

And  clamored  at  his  door. 
The  far  off  hill-tops  echoed  loud 

His  deep  resounding  roar. 
So,  in  the  distant  wastes  he  looked. 

When  roused  by  foes  for  fight. 
And  such  a  glance  and  such  a  roar. 

Filled  every  soul  with  fright. 
They  loosed  the  chain  and  left  her  there 

In  all  her  maiden  grace  ; 
While  only  star-like  faith  lit  up 

The  heaven  of  her  face. 
The  ponderous  hinges  turned,  and  forth 

The  brute  in  fury  sprung  ; 
His  lips  all  flecked  with  gore  and  foam, 

And  swelled  his  lollino;  tono-ue. 

The  heathen  thousands  rose  to  see 


THE   VICTORY   OF    TRUTH.  307 

That  youthful  martyr  die  — 
But  ah!  what  magic  spell  is  that 

Whose  lustre  fills  her  eye  ? 
Her  sweet  lips  part  —  her  bosom  throbs  — 

Her  beauteous  arms  are  raised  — 
The  cruel  beast  forgets  his  wrath, 

Before  that  look  amazed. 
She  kneels,  and  on  the  yielding  sands 

Her  rounded  form  sinks  low  ; 
Down  in  her  soul,  the  maiden  prays 

Unto  her  God,  and  so 
The  pure  appeal  is  borne  on  high 

By  watching  angels,  fleet  — 
And  lo  !  the  humbled  monster  comes 

And  crouches  at  her  feet ; 
Her  little  hand  is  gently  laid 

Upon  his  tawny  mane, 
Her  tender  eyes  are  wet  with  tears, 

Like  violets  after  rain. 
The  mail-clad  courtiers  shake  the  rins: 

With  thundering  acclaim  ; 
But  her  weak  lips  can  onl^^  shape 

Her  Heavenly  Father's  name ! 

The  Emperor  rose  in  purple  state, 

And  bade  his  minions  bear. 
The  ransomed  maiden  forth  asiain. 

To  Freedom's  thrilling  air  ; 
And  stately  Priests  their  rites  ordained, 

Within  the  templed  grove  ; 
Ascribing  praise  to  Juno  fair, 

And  to  Olympian  Jove. 

But  heathen  gods  are  wood  and  stone. 

Hers — is  a  Father  dear, 
To  whom,  in  child-like  trusting  love, 


308  LIEUT.  HOWARD    C.  WRIGHT,  OF   LOUISIANA. 

Her  fainting  heart  drew  near ; 
When  Lions  fierce  of  doubt  and  sin 

Their  brutal  force  prepare, 
Before  a  frowning  world  —  our  help, 

Like  hers  —  will  be  in  prayer ! 

Then  let  the  Church,  in  these  dark  days, 

Stand  bravely  at  her  post, 
Though  cruel  wars  and  strifes  abound, 

And  Satan  leads  his  host; 
They  gnash  their  Lion-fangs  at  her, 

But  ah,  they  gnash  in  vain ; 
For  He  will  send  His  armies  down 

To  save  and  to  sustain! 

And  in  some  gracious,  coming  time, 

Truth's  banner  white,  shall  be. 
The  noblest  badge  of  migljt  sublime, 

That  waves  on  land  or  sea. 
"When  War's  red-lettered  creed  shall  die. 

Beneath  the  floAvers  of  spring : 
Then,  where  our  Martyrs  fight  and  bleed, 

Their  babes  shall  sit  and  sing ! 


This  accomplished,  talented  and  gallant  author  of  the  following,  was 
connected  with  a  leading  newspaper  in  New  Orleans  prior  to  the  war,  and 
commanded  the  love,  respect  and  confidence  of  the  public.  In  the  beginning 
of  our  struggle  he  connected  himself  as  a  private  with  the  31st  Louisiana 
regiment,  and  served  with  distinguished  gallantry  up  lo  the  surrender  of  Port 
Hudson,  July  9th,  1863.     From  this  point  he  was  carried  as  a  prisoner  to 


LIEUT.  HOWARD    C.  WRIGHT,  OF   LOUISIANA.  309 

New  Orleans,  where,  for  a  considerable  time,  he  was  on  his  parole  of 
honor  ;  ultimately  he  was  sent  to  Johnson's  Island,  and  detained  there  un- 
til the  spring  of  1865,  when  he  was  exchanged.  He  immediately  started 
southward  to  join  the  forces  of  General  Kirby  Smith.  Reaching  the  vi- 
cinity of  West  Point,  Georgia,  and  learning  that  Wilson  and  his  raiders 
were  near  at  hand,  he  joined  the  small  yet  heroic  command  at  that  place, 
and  in  the  desperate  conflict,  the  very  last  of  the  war  that  ensued,  was 
killed.  Tall,  straight,  with  regular  features,  dark  eyes,  hair  flowing  and 
black  as  the  raven's  wing  ;  dignified  in  deportment,  yet  of  pleasing  ad- 
dress, he  was  a  man  to  be  observed  amongst  a  thousand.  At  the  time  of 
his  death  he  probably  was  not  more  than  twenty-three  or  twenty-four  years 
of  age. 

THE  YOLUNTEEE'S  EETUE:Nr. 


BY  LIEUT.  HOWARD  C.  WRIGHT. 


'Tis  just  three  years  this  morning 

Since  last  I  viewed  this  spot ; 
All  thoughts  of  danger  scorning, 

How  happy  then  my  lot ! 
Three  years  !  and  now  returning 

My  happy  home  to  see, 
I  find  its  rafters  burning  — 

My  Grod  !  can  such  things  be  ? 

'Tis  just  three  years  since  gaily 

I  marched,  the  foe  to  meet  j 
In  spirit  I  came  daily. 

My  dear  loved  ones  to  greet. 
I've  thought,  mid  cannon's  thunder, 

Of  wife  and  child  again. 
And  sadly  paused  to  wonder. 

If  they  were  happy  then. 

A  wounded  pris'ner  sighing, 
Long,  weary  months  away  ; 

Upon  a  pallet  lying. 

How  longed  I  for  this  day  I 


310  MAJ.  GEORGE    MCKNIGHT,  "ASA   HARTZ." 

I  saw  my  wife  advancing 
To  meet  my  fond  embrace  ; 

The  love-light  of  her  gleaming 
Fall  in  my  eager  face. 

Beneath  yon  weeping  willow, 

In  death  I  found  her  laid, 
Her  breast  the  last  fond  pillow, 

That  for  her  babe'was  made  ! 
Oh,  good  and  great  Jehovah  ! 

Can  vengeance  longer  sleep  ? 
Forbearance  now  is  over, 

'Tis  time  their  murd'rers  weep  ! 


Major  George  McKnight,  ("Asa  Hartz,")  was  born  in  Camden,  South 
Carolina,  the  26th  April,  1833.  He  began  to  learn  the  printing  business  in 
Cheraw,  at  an  early  age,  after  a  school  term  of  four  months,  having  pre- 
viously been  taught  to  read  at  home.  When  eighteen,  he  left  South  Caro- 
lina and  went  to  Alabama,  where  he  remained  until  January,  1860,  and 
then  removed  to  New  Orleans,  and  took  a  position  as  local  editor  of  the 
New  Orleans  Delta.  In  January,  1862,  he  was  elected  Major  of  what  was 
called  the  Beauregard  Regiment.  Upon  the  capture  of  New  Orleans  he 
escaped  from  the  city,  and,  after  filling  a  number  of  places  suitable  to  his 
military  rank,  was  assigned  to  duty  as  Assistant  Adjutant  General  of 
Major  General  Loring's  division.  After  taking  part  in  several  engagements 
in  the  Southwest,  he  was  captured  on  the  19th  of  July,  1863,  about  four 
miles  from  Hazlehurst,  Miss.  He  was  taken  to  Johnson's  Island,  Ohio, 
and  remained  there  a  prisoner  more  than  a  year.  He  is  now  engaged  as 
an  associate  editor  of  the  New  Orleans  Picayune.  His  first  wife,  formerly 
Miss  Woodal,  of  Georgia,  was  killed  by  Iowa  troops,  at  Jackson,  Miss.,  in 
May,  1863.  He  married  again,  in  1865,  Miss  Isabel  B.  Taylor,  of  Richmond, 
Virginia. 


MAJOR    GEORGE    McKNIGHT,  ''ASA    HARTZ."  311 

MY  LOYE  AND  I. 


MAJOR  GEORGE  MCRNIGUT. 


My  love  reposes  on  a  rosewood  frame ; 

A  "  bunk  "  have  I ; 
A  couch  of  feathery  down  fills  up  the  same  • 

Mine  —  straw,  but  dry." 
She  sinks  to  sleep  at  night  with  scarce  a  sigh  ; 
AYith  waking  eyes  I  watch  the  hours  creep  by. 

My  Love  her  daily  dinner  takes  in  state, 

And  so  do  I. 
The  richest  viands  flank  her  silver  plate, 

Coarse  "  grub  "  have  I ; 
Pure  wine  she  sips  at  ease  her  thirst  to  slake, 
Ipump  my  drink  from  Erie's  limpid  lake. 

My  Love  has  all  the  world  to  roam  ; 

Five  acres  I  ; 
She  goes  abroad,  or  quiet  sits  at  home  ; 

So  cannot  I. 
Bright  angels  watch  around  her  couch  at  night ; 
A  "  Yank  "  with  loaded  gun  keeps  me  in  sight. 

A  thousand  weary  miles  now  stretch  between 

My  Love  and  I ; 
To  her  this  wintry  night,  cold,  calm,  serene, 

I  waft  a  sigh. 
And  hope,  with  all  my  earnestness  of  soul, 
To-morrow's  mail  may  bring  me  my  parole  ! 

There's  hope  ahead  ?     We'll  meet  one  day  again. 

My  Love  and  I ; 
We'll  wipe  all  tears  of  sorrow  then  ; 

Her  love-lit  eye 
Will  all  my  many  troubles  then  beguile, 
And  keep  this  wayward  "  Eeb  "  from  Johnson's  Isle. 


312  LEONIDAS    POLK,  PRIEST    AND    WARRIOR. 

l^^omtras  Holh,  priest  aittr  Wimxox. 


BY  E.  C.    MCCARTHY. 


We  hear  a  solemn,  saddening  sound  — 

A  mournful  knell ; 
From  every  sacred  spire  tolls  forth 

The  funeral  bell. 
Through  all  the  land  a  wail  goes  out  — 

The  nation  weeps, 
And  voices,  full  of  tears,  proclaim  — 

"  A  hero  sleeps  !  " 

Forever  stilled  the  noble  heart 

"Within  his  breast ! 
The  Patriot,  Soldier,  Martyr,  Priest, 

Is  gone  to  rest ! 
Then,  everywhere  let  joy  be  hashed, 

And  bowed  each  head  ; 
Truth,  Chivalry  and  Freedom  weep, 

For  Polk  is  dead  ! 

And  near  the  spot  where  fell  our  chief 

We  wait  the  foe  ! 
But  we  weep  not,  though  all  our  hearts 

Are  full  of  woe  ! 
Our  sobs  are  hushed  where  cannons  roar 

And  triggers  fall ; 
The  tears  we  shed  are  grape,  and  shell. 

And  minie  ball ! 

A  thought,  undying,  sternly  throbs 

Our  hearts  among ; 
And  vengeance  leaps  from  every  eye. 

From  every  tongue ! 


"THE  HEROES    THAT    DIED    FOR   ITS."  313 

For  this,  Oh,  God !  we  watch  and  wait 

From  hour  to  hour  ! 
Be  ours,  Almighty  One,  the  arms. 

And  thine  the  power ! 


*'  §0  ^t  Seep  for  i\t  ferots  tijat  ^ub  for  Ss ! " 


FATHER  A.  J.  RYAN. 


Do  we  weep  for  the  heroes  that  died  for  us, 
Who,  living,  were  true  and  tried  for  us, 
And  in  death,  sleep  side  by  side  for  us  ? 

The  martyr  band 

That  hallowed  our  land 
With  the  blood  they  poured  in  a  tide  for  us. 

Ah  !  fearless  on  many  a  day  for  us. 
They  stood  in  front  of  the  fray  for  us, 
And  held  the  foemen  at  bay  for  us  ; 

Fresh  tears  should  fall 

Forever  —  o'er  all 
Who  fell  while  wearing  the  gray  for  us. 

How  many  a  glorious  name  for  us, 
How  many  a  story  of  fame  for  us, 
They  left !     Would  it  not  be  a  shame  for  us 
If  their  memory  part 
From  our  land  and  heart, 
And  a  wrong  to  them  and  a  blame  for  us  ? 
U 


314  BRIG.  GEN.  M.  JEFF.  THOMPSON,  OF  MISSOURI. 

No  !  no  !  no !  they  were  brave  for  us, 
And  bright  were  the  lives  they  gave  for  us  ; 
The  land  they  struggled  to  save  for  us 

Cannot  forget 

Its  warriors  yet 
Who  sleep  in  so  many  graves  for  us. 

No  !  no  !  no  !  they  were  slain  for  us, 

And  their  blood  flowed  out  in  a  rain  for  us  ; 

Kedj  rich,  and  pure,  on  the  plain  for  us ; 

And  years  may  go 

But  our  tears  will  flow 
O'er  the  dead  who  have  died  in  vain  for  us  ? 

And  their  deeds  —  proud  deeds  — •  shall  remain  for  us, 
And  their  names  —  dear  names  —  without  stain  for  us. 
And  the  glories  they  won  shall  not  wane  for  us ; 

In  legend  and  lay, 

Our  heroes  in  gray. 
Though  dead,  shall  live  over  again  for  us. 


Irig.  (Sen.  ^.  feff.  8^lj0mps0it,  of  P^bsourr. 


General  M.  Jeff.  Thompson  was  born  at  Harper's  Fer- 
ry, Virginia,  January  22,  1826.  His  father,  Merriwether 
Thompson,  was  the  son  of  Captain  Edmund  Thompson, 
who  commanded  a  company  from  Hanover  County,  Ya., 
during  the  Eevolutionary  War.     His  mother  was  Martha 


BRIG.  GEN.  M.  JEFF.  THOMPSON,  OF    MISSOURI.  315 

Slaughter  Broadus,  of  Culpepper  County,  Ya.,  and  was 
the  daughter  of  Major  Daniel  Broadus,  who  was  also  an 
officer  in  the  same  struggle  for  independence.  Both  grand- 
fathers were  present  at  the  surrender  of  Cornwallis  at 
Yorktown. 

At  the  age  of  eighteen  years,  he  entered  the  store  of 
J.  J  &  E.  P.  Miller,  in  Charlestown,  Ya.;  with  the  inten- 
tion of  becoming  a  merchant ;  he  subsequently  served  ac- 
ceptably in  leading  houses  in  Philadelphia  and  Baltimore. 
In  1848,  he  removed  to  St.  Joseph,  Missouri,  where  he  con- 
tinued to  reside  till  the  breaking  out  of  the  war,  filling  a 
number  of  offices  of  jDublic  trust  and  responsibility. 

As  the  storm  of  war  gathered,  Gen.  Thompson,  as  might 
have  been  anticipated  from  his  honored  and  patriotic 
lineage,  espoused  the  cause  of  the  South.  With  his  own 
hands  he  pulled  down  the  United  States  flag  that  floated 
over  the  Post  Office  in  St.  Joseph,  and,  to  use  his  own 
language  :  "  did  several  other  foolish  things  more  credita- 
ble to  his  courage  than  his  judgment." 

Want  of  space  forbids  a  detailed  narrative  of  General 
Thompson's  career  during  the  war;  which,  of  itself,  fills  a 
respectable  volume.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  he  was  con- 
spicuous for  patient  endurance,  dashing  courage,  and 
ready  resources,  throughout  the  conflict.  The  field  of  his 
operations  extended  from  near  St.  Louis,  to  the  neighbor- 
hood of  New  Orleans,  and  well  deserved  the  title  of  the 
"  Marion  of  the  Confederacy." 

In  August,  1863,  a  sudden  dash  of  600  Federal  cavalry 
into  Pocahontas,  Arkansas,  resulted  in  Gen.  Thompson's 
capture.  He  was  taken  to  St.  Louis,  and  confined  in  that 
den  of  barbarity  known  as  the  "  Gratiot  street  Prison," 
and  then  transferred  respectively,  to  the  Illinois  Peniten- 
tiary, to  St.  Louis,  and  to  Johnson's  Island,  where  he  re- 
mained till  February,  1864,  thence  to  Point  Lookout, 
thence  to  Fort  Delaware,  and,  finally,  to  the  Prison  Ship 
off  Charleston,  where,  after  remaining  a  month,  he  was 
exchanged. 


316  "THOU   ART    DEAD,  MY   MOTHER." 

He  was  ordered,  soon  afterwards,  to  report  to  General 
Kirby  Smith,  Trans-^Iississippi  Department ;  but,  hearing 
of  Gren.  Price's  invasion  of  Missouri,  he  obtained  permis- 
sion to  join  that  officer;  and  travelling  with  their  compan- 
ions across  an  extensive  tract  of  country,  he  came  up  with 
the  desired  command  at  the  close  of  the  battle  of  Trenton. 

He  was  immediately  assigned  to  the  command  of  Shel- 
by's Brigade,  and  fought  almost  every  day,  until  the  Con- 
federates left  the  State,  on  the  retreat.  After  reaching 
good  quarters,  in  Texas,  he  was  assigned  to  the  command 
of  the  iS'orthern  Sub-District  of  Arkansas,  including  Mis- 
souri. He  had  just  entered  upon  the  vigorous  discharge 
of  his  duties,  when  the  news  of  the  Confederate  misfor- 
tunes in  Virginia  reached  him.  Gen.  Eeynolds,  Federal 
commander  at  Little  Eock,  immediately  demanded  a  sur- 
render, but  it  was  declined.  Gen.  Dodge  next  renewed 
the  same,  accompanied  by  a  large  force,  to  which  Gen. 
Thompson  yielded. 

A  few  days  afterwards,  he  proceeded  to  New  Orleans, 
where  he  is  now  in  the  grocery  and  commission  business. 


"  Cfeou  Sri  §ccxii,  ISb  UTot^w. " 


BY  GEN.  M.  JEFF.  THOMPSON. 


I've  stood  'mid  many  a  battle  blast. 

And  braved  the  shock  of  charging  horse, 

'Mid  comrades  falling  thick  and  fast. 
And  gaping  wounds,  and  ghastly  corse ! 


MY   WIFE   AND   CHILD. 

Such  sights  but  nerve  a  soldier's  soul  — 
And  there  we  must  our  feelings  smother ; 

But  now  my  tears  brook  no  control, 
I  hear  that  thou  art  dead,  my  Mother  I 

I've  sat  beside  my  dying  friends, 

And  seen  their  life-blood  ooze  away  — 
And  felt  that  I  my  life  could  end 

In  earnest  prayer  that  they  might  stay, 
Fond  ones  to  cheer  with  friendship  dear, 

For  truly  loved  I  as  a  brother; 
But  all  such  grief  scarce  drew  a  tear 

To  those  I  shed  for  thee,  my  mother ! 

But  a  soldier  has  no  time  for  tears ; 

My  country  needs  my  constant  thought; 
My  heart  I  steel  'gainst  griefs  and  fears, 

For  freedom  thus- is  ever  bought! 
A  messmate  falls, we  say  "  Good  bye!" 

The  next  in  ranks  becomes  another: 
There's  not  the  pain,  though  all  should  die, 

Like  this  — the  loss  of  thee,  my  mother  I 


317 


Pg  Wife  anir  C^iltr. 

BY  HENRY  R.  JACKSON,  OF  GEORGIA. 


The  tattoo  beats— the  lights  are  gone, 
The  camp  around  in  slumber  lies, 

The  night  with  solemn  pace  moves  on. 
The  shadows  thicken  o'er  the  skies : 


318  MY   WIFE    AND    CHILD. 

But  sleep  my  weary  eyes  hath  flown, 
And  sad  uneasy  thoughts  arise. 

I  think  of  thee,  oh,  dearest  one. 

Whose  love  my  early  life  hath  blest ; 

Of  thee  and  him — our  baby  son  — 
"Who  slumbers  on  thy  gentle  breast. 

God  of  the  tender,  frail  and  lone, 
Oh,  guard  the  tender  sleeper's  rest ; 

And  hover  gently,  hover  near 

To  her,  whose  watchful  eye  is  wet  — 

To  mother,  wife  — the  doubly  dear, 

In  whose  young  heart  have  freshly  met 

Two  streams  of  love  so  deep  and  clear  : 
And  cheer  her  drooping  spirits  yet ! 

!N"ow,  while  she  kneels  before  Thy  throne. 
Oh,  teach  her,  Rulei'  of  the  skies, 

That  while  by  Thy  behest  alone. 

Earth's  mightiest  powers  fall  or  rise, 

No  tear  is  wept  to  Thee  unknown, 
'No  hair  is  lost,  no  sparrow  dies ! 

That  Thou  can'st  stay  the  ruthless  hand 
Of  dark  disease,  and  soothe  its  pain ; 

That  only  by  Thy  stern  command 
The  battle's  lost,  the  soldier  slain  — 

That  from  the  distant  sea  or  land, 

Thou  bring'st  the  wanderer  home  again. 

And  when,  upon  her  pillow  lone. 
Her  tear-wet  cheek  is  sadly  prest, 

May  happier  visions  beam  upon 

The  brightening  current  of  her  breast : 

No  frowning  look,  or  angry  tone, 
Disturb  the  Sabbath  of  her  rest. 


THE   FEDERAL   CHAPLAIN'S    STORY.  319 

Whatever  fate  those  forms  may  show 
Loved  with  a  passion  almost  wild  — 

By  day  —  by  night  —  in  joy  or  woe  — 
By  fears  oppressed,  or  hopes  beguiled, 

From  every  danger,  every  foe, 

Oh  God !  protect  my  wife  and  child  I 


BY  MRS.  GEN.  W.  H.  SMITH,  OP  VIRGINIA. 


As  the  Federal  army  under  Gen.  Hunter,  shattered  and  starving,  passed 
through  I  ewisburg,  on  its  disastrous  retreat  from  Lynchburg,  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Osborne,  a  Federal  chaplain,  called  at  the  residence  of  Rev.  Dr.  Mc- 
Elhenny,  Pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  in  that  place,  and  related  the 
circumstances  attending  the  murder  of  David  S.  Creigh.  Dinner  coming 
on,  he  was  pressed  by  the  Doctor  to  join  in  a  family  meal.  The  chaplain 
declined,  declaring  that  since  that  atrocious  murder,  he  could  not  "  consent 
to  break  bread  under  a  Southern  roof." 

He  lived  the  life  of  an  upright  man. 

And  the  people  loved  him  well ; 
Many  a  wayfarer  came  to  his  door, 

His  sorrow  or  need  to  tell. 
A  pitying  heart  and  an  open  hand, 

Gave  succor  ready  and  free  ; 
For  kind  and  true  to  his  fellow-man. 

And  a  Christian  was  David  Creigh. 

But  o'er  his  threshold  a  shadow  passed, 

With  the  step  of  a  ruffian  foe ; — 
"While  insolent  words  and  brutal  threats 

A  purpose  of  darkness  show ; 


320  THE   FEDERAL    CHAPLAIN'S    STORY. 

And  a  daughter's  wild  imploring  cry 
Called  the  father  to  her  side  — 

His  hand  was  nerved  by  the  burning  wrong, 
And  there  the  offender  died. 

The  glory  of  Autumn  had  gone  from  earth  ; 

The  Winter  had  passed  away, 
And  the  glad  Spring-time  was  merging  fast 

Into  Summer's  ardent  ray, 
TVhen  a  good  man  from  his  home  was  torn  — 

Days  of  toilsome  travel  to  see  — 
And  far  from  his  loved,  a  crown  was  worn, 

And  the  martyr  was  David  Creigh !  " 

"  The  tramp  of  your  men  is  at  our  door, 

On  an  evil  errand  come ; 
But,  for  love  of  Him  whose  garb  you  wear, 

I  invite  you  to  my  home." 
So  spake  the  Southron  ;  the  Chaplain,  thus : 

"  Though  sick  and  weary  I  be, 
I  can't  break  bread  'neath  a  Southern  roof, 

Since  the  murder  of  David  Creigh ! 

"Here,  where  he  lived,  let  the  end  be  told, 

Of  a  tale  of  bitter  wrong  ; 
Here,  let  our  famishing  thousands  learn. 

To  whom  vengeance  doth  belong. 
Short  grace  was  given  the  dying  man, 

E're  led  to  the  fatal  tree, 
And  short  the  grace  to  our  starving  hosts, 

Since  the  murder  of  David  Creigh  " 

*'  Our  hosts  were  stayed  in  their  onward  way, 
Exulting  in  pow'r  and  pride, 
By  an  unseen  hand  —  defeat  and  want 
Our  banners  now  march  beside  ; 


THE    MARTYRS    OP   THE    SOUTH.  321 

And  a  heavier  burden  no  heart  hath  borne, 

Than  the  one  that  came  to  me, 
With  the  dying  words  and  the  Uitest  sigh, 

Of  the  martyr,  David  Creigh. 

"  The  beast  of  the  desert  shields  its  young, 

With  an  instinct  fierce  and  wild. 
And  lives  there  man  with  the  heart  of  man, 

AVho  would  not  defend  his  child  ? 
No !  woe  to  those  who  call  evil,  good  — 

That  woe  shall  not  come  to  me  — 
War  hath  no  record  of  fouler  deed 

Than  the  murder  of  David  Creigh  I 


t  Utartgrs  of  %  ^niitlj. 


BY  A.  B.  MEEK,  OF  ALABAMA. 


Oh,  weep  not  for  the  gallant  hearts 

Who  fell  in  battle's  day  ; 
They  well  performed  their  hero  parts 

And  passed  from  earth  away. 
They  lie  asleep  on  honor's  bed  — 

Young  Freedom's  martyred  band  — 
For  all  that's  dear  to  man  they  bled  — 

For  God  and  native  land  ! 

Weep  not  for  Jackson,  who  laid  down 

His  life  in  fullest  fame; 
Who  always  wore  the  victor's  crown, 

Now  wears  a  deathless  name! 
14* 


322  THE    MARTYRS    OF    THE    SOUTH. 

Oh  !  what  a  loss  that  day  was  ours, 
When  that  great  light  grew  dim : 

We  weep  among  our  darkened  bowers, 
But  do  not  weep  for  him. 

For  Sidney  Johnston  —  whose  high  worth 

Was  Freedom's  polar  star  — 
Who,  like  Elijah,  passed  from  earth 

In  battle's  fiery  car  ; 
Shed  not  a  tear  —  he  is  not  dead  — 

But  UP  from  Shiloh  gone ! 
Where  wreaths  ambrosial  deck  his  dead, 

Beside  great  Washington. 

Weep  not  for  Garnett,  his  young  brow 

Among  the  earliest  paled  ; 
Though  death  compelled  his  form  to  bow, 

His  spirit  never  quailed  ! 
Among  Virginia's  mountain  heights. 

With  G-arland  by  his  side. 
And  Starke ;  they  fought  for  Southern  rights 

And  for  their  country  died. 

Oh,  for  McCuUough,  do  not  weep  — 

The  Marion  of  the  West  — 
I^or  for  Bartow,  nor  Bee  — but  keep 

Their  memories  in  the  breast. 
They  realized  man's  noblest  fate  — 

In  victory's  lap  to  lie  ; 
We  all  must  die,  or  soon  or  late  — 

How  blest  like  him  to  die ! 

Fair  Mississippi's  stalwart  chief — 
Brave  Barksdale  —  too,  has  gone, 

And  Zollicoffer's  life  too  brief, 
Moulton  and  Green  passed  on. 


THE    MARTYRS    OP   THE    SOUTH.  323 

Kentucky's  Hanson  slumbers  low, 

With  Helm  and  Branch  as  well ; 
Pour  not  for  them  the  stream  of  woe, 

With  heroes  now  they  dwell ! 

For  Alabama's  own  loved  dead, 

Though  humbler  be  their  names. 
Why  should  the  selfish  tear  be  shed  ? 

For  they  are  God's  and  fame's. 
Eest  Irby,  Webb,  Jones,  Hobbs  and  Hale, 

Eest  Jewett,  Somers,  Moore, 
Inge,  Gareott,  Lomax,  Pelham,  Baine, 

On  death's  wide,  peaceful  shore. 

What  stars  crowd  out  upon  the  sky. 

Of  history,  as  I  write ! 
Would  I  could  number  them  on  high, 

The  planets  of  our  night. 
They  live  immortal ;  and  for  them 

We  need  not  shed  a  tear; 
Each  wears  a  golden  diadem 

In  a  heroic  sphere  ! 

But  we  must  weep  —  aye,  deeply  mourn 

For  our  own  selves  bereft. 
The  priesthood  from  our  altars  torn, 

Our  homes  in  darkness  left. 
The  widowed  and  the  orphan  band 

On  fate's  rude  waters  tost  — 
Weep  for  the  anguish-stricken  land 

That  such  great  souls  has  lost ! 


324  IF   A    SOLDIER    MEET    A    SOLDIER. 


Jf  a  Sfllbier  mut  a  Sr)Ib*ur. 


BY  GEN.  M.  JEFF.  THOMPSON. 


Air. —  "  Coming  ihro'  the  Rye.^' 
If  a  soldier  meet  a  soldier,  'mid  the  battle's  din, 
And  the  soldier  kills  the  soldier —  surely  'tis  no  sin  ; 
But  if  a  soldier  meet  a  soldier,  when  the  fight  is  o'er, 
He  gives  his  han'  and  shares  his  can,  like  gallant  men  of 
yore. 

If  a  soldier  meet  a  soldier  —  I  pray  you  now  take  note. 
And  to  that  soldier,  says  Mr.  Soldier:  "  come  out  of  that 

'ere  coat ! " 
Now  this  soldier,  to  that  soldier,  really  means  no  ill, 
For  ''Uncle  Sam,"  or  "Cousin  Sail,"  has  to  foot  the  bill. 

But  if  a  soldier's  not  a  soldier,  though  he  wear  the  coat, 
Then  some  soldier  of  that  soldier,  should  promptly  cut  his 

throat ; 
For  a  soldier  's  not  a  soldier,  if  his  brand  's  of  fire. 
And  homesteads,  hearthstones,  family  altars,  only  feel  his 

ire. 

The  kind  of  soldiers  loved  by  soldiers,  carry  brands  of  steel, 
And  the  strong  blows  of  a  soldier,  soldiers  dare  to  feel ; 
But  a  soldier  damns  the  soldier,  who,  shunning  a  fair  fight, 
Makes  widows  lone,  and  orphans  poor,  only  know  his  might. 

There  are  some  soldiers  —  Christian  soldiers  —  who  seem  to 

love  the  strife. 
And  these  soldiers,  of  other  soldiers,  gladly  take  their  life. 
But  all  good  soldiers,  patriot  soldiers,  pray  the  strife  to 

cease; 
Each  humbly  asks,  Great  God,  of  Thee,  our  Liberty  and 

Peace. 
Fort  Delaware,  Del. ,  April,  1861 . 


BURY   OUR   DEAD.  325 


§itr|T  ©III"  gmir. 

Bury  our  dead  !     From  Eama's  shore ! 

From  every  beauteous  Southland  vale, 
Is  borne  the  saddest  cry  on  earth, 
A  Mother  Country's  childless  wail! 
Weep  stricken  land, 

Weep  for  thy  slain  ! 
Oh,  give  them  back, 
Historic  plain ! 
They  rise  !     Proud  Mother,  bare  thy  breast, 
Dead  Sons  would  lay  them  down  to  rest ! 

Fathers !     By  all  the  pride  of  blood 

And  name  bequeathed  from  sire  to  son, 
Untarnished,  they  return  to  shield, 
By  honor's  death  the  lost  boy  won  ! 
Grey  veterans,  come ! 

Each  battle  plain 
Bears  witching  heaps 
Of  kindred  slain ! 
To  martial  step  they  are  filing  past, 
Furloughed  for.  home,  you'll  meet  at  lasti' 

Mothers  bereft !     Unburied  sons 

Claim  graves  upon  ancestral  sod ! 
Yours  are  the  hands  to  lift  them  up 
And  give  them  back  again  to  Godl 
With  feeble  step 

And  silvered  head, 
Ye  childless  Eachaels 
Baise  your  dead ! 
While  angels  chant  the  martyr  knell ; 
Aye,  lift  them  gently  where  they  fell ! 


326  BURY    OUR    DEAD. 

Oh,  Sisters,  Avho  have  earlv  worn 

Black  grief,  in  voiceless,  deadly  pain 
Of  stifled  tears!     The  sickening  cry 
For  Eama's  sturdy  manhood  slain  ! 
Come,  maidens,  come, 

The  task  is  ours 
To  wreathe  their  tombs 
TVith  Southern  flowers. 
Come  softly,  while  the  sad  refrain 
Floats  on,  oh,  bring  them  back  again  ! 

Brothers !     Ye  braves  of  willing  hand, 

You're  spared,  while  gallant  comrades  fell. 
And  few  remain,  in  whispers  low, 
The  glory  of  our  Flag  to  tell ! 
Men  battle-scarred, 

Heroic  death 
Is  all  at  last ! 

Life's  sweetest  breath 
Can  give  no  more  —  the  spirit  throng 
Cry :  "  Give  us  graves,  ye  brothers  strong !  " 

Poor  Widows,  who  must  yearn  in  vain, 

With  folding  hands  and  drooping  head. 
By  dreary  hearthstones  wet  with  tears. 
Come,  help  us  lift  our  darling  dead ! 
Oh,  suffering  Wife, 

Their  voices  grand, 
Ask  graves  upon 
The  Mother  land ! 
Where  bright  Magnolia  forests  steep 
White  incense  —  lay  them  down  to  sleep  ! 

Bury  our  dead !     Sad  human  cry  ! 

Beneath  the  stately  flame-scathed  pine, 
Or  orange  grove,  where  dark-eyed  maids. 

Bright  chaplets,  evergreen,  may  twine  1 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.        32V 

Brothers  disarmed ! 

The  din  is  o'er, 
We'll  ask  for  graves 
And  claim  no  more, 
Save  drooping  flag  and  muffled  drum 
For  Southern  dead !     Come,  Southrons,  come ! 


S^totite-faur  pours  oi  Jftir^ral  ^rbon  i^ife. 


BY  COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


Outsiders  are  curious  to  know  how  Prisoners  of  War 
pass  their  time.  Should  what  I  am  about  to  write  ever 
go  beyond  the  hated  steel-bristling  walls,  by  which  I  am 
surrounded,  this  desire  may,  to  some  extent,  be  gratified. 

Eeader,  follow  me  from  dawn  to  dawn  again,  and  you 
will  see  what  these  three  thousand  Confederate  prisoners 
are  doing. 

Awaking  at  the  peep  of  day,  we  may,  if  we  wish,  get 
up  and  make  our  toilette  ;  but  we  must  be  careful  not  to 
stir  abroad,  but  confine  ourselves  to  our  room  until  reveille. 
For,  should  we  go  out  to  snuff  the  fresh  breeze  of  morn- 
ing that  comes  floating  so  softly  across  the  placid  bosom 
of  Lake  Erie,  before  we  have  heard  that  signal,  we  will 
certainly  be  ordered  to  our  quarters  by  one  of  those  blue- 
coated  gentlemen  promenading  the  parapet,  and  should  we 
stand  "  upon  the  manner  of  our  going,"  instead  of  going 
at  once,  the  crack  of  a  minie  rifle,  and  the  sharp  whiz  of 
a  ball,  will  remind  us  that,  here,  at  least,  we  are  not  the 


328         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OP  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

creatures  of  our  own  volition.  After  reveille,  however, 
we  are  at  liberty  to  go  where  we  please  within  the  prison, 
provided  we  do  not  please  to  essay  a  transit  across  the 
*'  dead  line,"  in  which  event,  we  should  probably  be  carried 
back  on  a  stretcher ;  so  a  due  regard  for  the  well-being  of 
"  mama's  darling  child "  forbids  a  trial  of  that  experi- 
ment. 

Hark !  the  reveille  is  sounding,  the  sharp  rat  tat  too  of 
which  goes  rattling  across  the  waters,  and  is  lost  in  the 
forests  of  the  encircling  shores,  ^ow,  there  is  a  general 
uprising,  though  of  a  very  peaceable  character,  through- 
out our  community.  The  next  task,  a  very  light  one,  how- 
ever, is  to  prepare  our  breakfast.  By  the  way,  have  you 
ever  studied  that  word  "  breakfast  "?  It  implies  that  we 
have  been  fasting,  and  that  the  fast  is  about  to  be  broken 
—  break-the-fast.  It  is  misapplied  here,  however,  for  we 
fast  all  the  time  :  not  because  of  our  remarkable  piety,  for 
we  are  as  bad  as  other  people  ;  nor  from  choice,  but  neces- 
sity. 

Breakfast  is  over.  Listen  !  The  drum  is  sounding 
"roll-call."  Get  ready  to  "fall  in,"  for  a  surly,  prying, 
peeping  corporal  will  be  around,  and  if  we  should  be  found 
in  our  room,  our  rations  —  unless  we  are  sick  and  have  a 
written  permit  from  our  Block-Surgeon  to  remain  in  — 
will  be  stopped  for  full  twenty-four  hours  ;  a  serious  mat- 
ter for  the  consideration  of  starving  men. 

IsTow  the  prison  gate  opens,  and  a  squad  of  tastefully 
attired  Federal  Lieutenants  enter,  and,  separating  just 
inside  the  "  dead  line,"  take  their  positions  in  front  of 
the  several  blocks.  The  prisoners,  divided  into  companies, 
swarm  from  their  quarters,  like  bees  from  their  hives,  and 
fall  in  line.  The  roll  is  next  called,  and  each  man,  as  he 
answers  to  his  name,  step  two  paces  to  the  front,  thus 
gradually  forming  a  second  line.  This  stepping  to  the 
front  is  a  new  regulation,  the  design  of  which  is  to  pre- 
vent our  "playing  off"  upon  those  loyal  custodians  of  our 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERIIL  PRISON  LIFE.        329 

persons.  Formerly  we  remained  stationary  as  we  respond- 
ed, and  if  a  companion  had  escaped  during  the  preceding 
night,  by  previous  arrangement  a  mess-mate,  after  answer- 
ing to  his  own  name,  would  slip  down  in  rear  of  the  line, 
take  the  place  of  the  fugitive,  and  when  his  name  was 
called,  answer  to  it.  This  "  sharp  practice  "  would  be  kept 
up  for  probably  five  or  six  mornings,  the  roll-calling  officer 
deceived  all  the  while,  and  regularly  reporting  "  all  pres- 
ent or  accounted  for ;  "  after  which,  the  substitute  would 
call  out :  ''  Well,  Lieutenant,  I  reckon  "  —  Southerners  al- 
ways "recAon,"  Yankees  ^' guess"  —  "I  reckon  T  have  an- 
swered for  John  Smith  long  enough,  and  as  he  is,  by  this 
time,  either  in  'Dixie  '  or  Canada,  you  had  as  well  scratch 
him  off!  "  The  blank  look  of  the  Lieutenant,  upon  the 
receipt  of  this  startling  piece  of  information,  m2ij  be  readi- 
ly conceived.  This  game,  however,  is  now  "blocked;" 
when  there  is  no  response  to  a  call,  and  no  one  steps  to 
the  front,  the  roll-caller  makes  a  peculiar  mark  opposite 
the  name,  and  then,  if  the  prying,  rummaging  Corporal, 
already  alluded  to,  returns  from  his  search  through  the 
quarters  and  reports  the  gentleman  "  not  found,"  it  is  very 
reasonably  "  guessed  "  that  he  is  somewhere  on  the  Ohio 
shore,  making  a  forced  march,  either  for  the  dominions  of 
Jefferson  Davis  or  those  of  her  Eoyal  Majesty,  Queen 
Victoria ;  and  the  agency  of  telegraph  wires  is  j)romptly 
invoked  to  "  head  him  off." 

Eoll-call  is  over  now,  and  what  means  the  sudden  rush 
of  the  "  grey  jackets  "  upon  the  heels  of  that  little  German 
Jew  "Yank,"  who,  having  come  in,  is  walking  briskly 
towards  the  space  in  rear  of  the  Sutler's  store  ?  He  is  the 
most  interesting  personage  on  the  Island,  not  even  except- 
ing  the  affable  and  dignified  Col.  Hill,  Commandant  of  the- 
Prison.  He  feels  his  importance,  too,  most  hugely.  His 
ascension  in  the  scale  of  human  greatness  has  far  excelled 
the  loftiest  flights  of  his  youthful  ambition,  when  indulg- 
ing in  copious  draughts  of  his  favorite  lager,  on  the  banks 


330         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OP  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

of  the  crag-castled  Ebine,  he  dreamed  of  the  exalted  po- 
eiiion  of  a  gcDtlemau'8  lacquey.  He  is  Express  Agent  for 
Confederate  Prisoners,  and  the  book  in  his  hand  contains 
the  names  of  those  for  whom  packages  of  nice  clothing, 
and  boxes  of  edibles,  have  just  been  landed  from  the 
Island  steamer.  He  places  himself  as  quickly  as  possible 
beyond  the  ''dead  line,"  and  faces  to  the  "right  about;" 
and  well  he  may  thus  seek  refuge  from  the  thousand  ex- 
cited, eager,  yelling  prisoners.  They  follow  him,  however, 
to  the  very  edge  of  the  fatal  line  that  marks  the  boundary 
between  life  and  death,  where,  as  if  by  a  common  impulse, 
they  come  to  a  sudden  and  simultaneous  halt.  How  the 
poor  fellows  crowd,  and  elbow,  and  jostle  each  other !  No 
fear  of  pickpockets  here  —  empty  pockets  fear  no  picking. 
The  money  sent  them  is  retained  outside,  the  Sutler  re- 
ceiving checks  on  the  Treasurer  for  bills  made  in  his 
gouging  establishment.  True,  there  may  be  a  five,  ten,  or 
even  twenty  dollar  gold  piece  nailed  up  in  that  "  Eeb's  " 
boot-heel,  as  a  sort  of  sui-e  "stand  by,"  should  he  ever  es- 
cape, but  what  thief  so  sharp  as  to  scent  coin  through  an 
inch  of  sole  leather,  or,  unobserved,  to  steal  the  heel  of  a 
man's  boot  —  the  boot  on  the  foot,  and  the  wearer  standing 
in  it  ?  How  they  tip-toe !  How  eager  and  expecting 
their  faces  !  How  breathlessly  they  listen  to  each  name 
as  it  is  read  out!  How  savagely  they  mutter  curses  upon 
his  semi-barbaric  tongue  that  refuses  to  call  the  name  in- 
telligibly !  How  they  torture  the  pronunciation  of  each 
name  into  a  fancied  resemblance  to  their  own  !  With 
what  a  vim  the  lucky  ones  shout:  "Here!"  and  what 
a  grin  defines  itself  from  ear  to  ear  as  they  do  so;  and 
how  suddenly  a  shadow  of  disappointment  saddens  a 
thousand  eyes,  just  blazing  with  hope,  as  the  last  on  the 
list  is  called  and  the  book  closed.  How  suggestive  is  this 
scene,  of  that,  when  the  Book  of  Eternal  Life  shall  be 
opened  for  the  grand  and  final  roll-call  of  the  Universe! 
Who  sends  these  packages  and  boxes  of  nice  and  good 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         331 

things  to  the  prisoners  ?  Their  friends.  Have  they  friends 
within  the  Federal  iinea?  Yes,  thousands  of  the  kindest, 
the  bravest,  the  truest,  and  the  best.  Where?  Every- 
where ;  in  city,  town  and  country  ;  in  New  York,  Phila- 
delphia, Louisville,  Cincinnati,  St.  Louis,  Alexandria,  Wash- 
ington, even  in  Southern-hating,  Puritanic  Boston;  and  in 
glorious  Baltimore,  the  fair-  queen  of  the  blue  Patapsco. 
Her  daughters,  famous  as  they  have  ever  been  for  the  witch- 
ery of  their  personal  charms,  are  destined  to  be  even  more 
renowned  for  their  inextinguishable  patriotism,  and  their 
warm,  active,  full,  free,  and  constantly  flowing  sympathy 
for  the  imprisoned  and  oppressed. 

But  the  scene  changes.  "Here's  your  mail !  "  "  here's 
your  mail !  "  from  a  thousand  throats,  and  the  Block  post- 
masters rapidly  wend  their  way  to  Block  "  One,"  where 
the  prison  mail,  the  arrival  of  which  is  so  vociferously  pro- 
claimed, will  be  opened  ;  and  when  they  receive  it,  they 
will  distribute  it  among  the  inmates  of  their  respective 
Blocks.  This  distribution  will  be  attended  with  the  same 
excitement,  the  same  manifestations  of  hope  and  disap- 
pointment, that  marked  the  calling  of  the  Express  list. 
Then  they  wanted  packages  and  boxes;  now  they  want 
letters  from  the  "loved  ones  at  home.''  I  shall  not  at- 
tempt to  depict  more  minutely  the  phase  of  prison  life 
presented  on  an  occasion  of  this  kind,  but  advise  you,  if 
you  can  lay  your  hand  on  it,  to  read  a  thrilling  sketch  of 
this  scene,  entitled  "  Here's  your  Mail  !  "  written  by 
Lieutenant  Howard  C.  Wright,  of  Louisiana,  an  occupant 
of  Block  "Eleven." 

What  is  that?  "  Come  and  draw  your  rations!  "  Well 
let  us  go.  The  officer  who  is  on  that  duty  for  our  mess  to- 
day will  draw  ours.  You  ask  if  one  man  can  carry  the  ra- 
tions for  the  eighty  occupants  of  our  room.  Two  can  easi- 
ly do  so.  They  are  not  likely  to  be  heavy;  only  a  little 
baker's  bread,  some  salt-beef,  or,  in  its  stead,  a  few  salt- 
fish,  too  poor  to  fry  themselves.     Perhaps  we  shall  draw 


332         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

codfish,  in  which  case  I  shall  fast.  Codfish  would  make  a- 
good  fertilizer  for  worn-out  lands,  but  I  cannot  believe 
they  were  ever  designed  for  human  food.  It  cannot  be 
that  the  Creator,  in  His  goodness  and  wisdom,  ever  in- 
vested anything  intended  for  the  human  stomach,  with  a 
stench  so  intolerably  putrescent  as  that  of  the  codfish.  A 
man  may  so  torture  and  pervert  his  taste  as  to  relish  cod- 
fish, just  as  Chinamen  relish  the  flesh  of  puppies,  and  Cali- 
fornia Indians  that  of  skunks  and  grasshoppers;  but  nat- 
urally, nothing  excej^t  birds  and  beast  of  carrion-eating 
propensities,  relish  such  abominations.  Like  many  other 
odious  things  of  the  present  age,  the  eating  of  codfish  is 
of  New  England  origin,  and  I  have  no  doubt  the  first 
morsel  that  ever  offended  a  human  palate,  was  devoured 
by  Miles  Standish  and  his  followers,  on  Plymouth  Eock. 

"Will  we  get  any  vegetables?"  Oh  no,  we  drew  them 
yesterday  —  one  potato  and  an  onion  apiece,  for  eight 
days.  '' Sugar  and  coffee  ?  "  Why  sir,  I  have  been  here 
ten  months,  and  not  an  ounce,  or  a  grain  of  either  have  I 
known  to  be  issued  to  the  prisoners.  For  three  or  four 
months  of  my  imprisonment,  we  were  not  allowed  to  buy 
at  the  Sutler's,  nor  to  receive  boxes  containing  provisions 
forwarded  by  our  friends,  unless  the  "permit"  of  the  Fed- 
eral Surgeon,  peevishly  and  stingily  granted,  were  found, 
inside.  "  How  did  we  manage  to  live  ?  "  Well,  you  know 
that  the  Children  of  Israel  were,  at  one  period  in  their 
journey  from  Egypt  to  the  Land  of  Canaan,  supplied  with 
showers  of  quails ;  we  were  scarcely  less  fortunate,  in  being 
supplied  with  droves  of  rats  ! 

Well,  as  the  rations  have  been  distributed,  this  spot  has 
lost  its  interest,  so  we  will  continue  our  stroll.  Here  is  a 
Chair  Factory.  This  man  saves  every  tough  and  straight 
stick  of  wood  that  he  can  lay  hold  upon,  and  converts  the 
same  into  the  legs,  backs  and  arms  of  chairs,  which,  when 
put  together,  he  sells  to  the  prisoners.  The  seats  are 
made  from  strips  of  leather,  bark,  tough  wood,  or  scraps 
of  half-worn  clothing. 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         333 

Now  let  us  cross  to  yon  Block.  Here  is  a  tailor  busily 
employed  at  bis  trade  ;  and  bere,  again,  is  a  sboeraaker. 
He  is  allowed  to  receive  leather,  for  it  is  Governmental 
economy,  but  be  is  not  allowed  to  make  boots,  only  sboes. 
Boots  are  contraband,  and  should  a  friend  send  you  a  pair, 
tbey  would  be  carried  outside.  I  can't  undertake  to  say 
what  would  be  done  with  them  there.  I  suppose  some- 
body might  be  found  whom  they  would  fit.  Perhaps  they 
would  be  sold  for  the  benefit  of  the  U.  S.  Government.  I 
only  know  that  hundreds  of  pairs  have  been  thus  taken 
from  the  prisoners  here.  Here  is  a  law-student :  visions 
of  an  office  crowded  with  clients,  with  plethoric  purses, 
wbile  bills,  declarations,  answers,  &c.,  lie  scattered  thickly 
around,  flit  before  his  imagination.  And  there  is  a  stu- 
dent of  medicine,  whose  pills  may  be  destined  to  kill  more 
men  than  any  battery  of  artillery  now  thundering  around 
the  beleaguered  cities  of  Eichmond  and  Petersburg.  Here 
is  another  of  dentistry:  and  still  another  preparing  bim- 
self  for  the  most  exalted  of  all  stations  —  the  ministry. 
Here  is  a  school  of  the  "  old  field  "  pattern,  wbere  only  the 
elementary  branches  are  taught,  and  there  goes  a  teacber 
of  a  class  in  the  dead  languages  and  the  higher  branches 
of  mathematics. 

We  must  be  careful  as  we  pass  on,  not  to  interrupt  that 
game  of  base-ball,  nor  yon  cricket  match,  nor  those  quoit 
pitchers.  Base-ball,  cricket,  and  quoits  are  not  the  only 
amusements  in  which  the  prisoners  indulge  themselves. 
We  have  a  company  of  amateur  actors,  known  as  the 
''Eebellonians,"  who  occasionally  furnish  entertainments 
of  a  dramatic  character,  w4iich  are  sure  to  be  liberally  pa- 
tronized. The  pieces  are  original,  the  writers  being  pris- 
oners with  fine  literary  attainments,  and  the  style  of  the 
*'  Eebellonian  "  performances  would  do  no  discredit  to  the 
boards  of  a  first-class  theatre. 

In  many  of  the  stage  plays,  as  well  as  at  our  dancing 
parties,  the  opposite  sex  is  represented  by  the  most  youth- 


334         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

ful  and  femininely  featured  prisoners,  disguised  in  appro- 
priate toggerj-,  for  the  introduction  of  which  we  are  in- 
debted to  Yankee  cupidity,  which  is  ever  ready  to  turn 
any  thing  to  account  that  promises  to  yield  a  penny.  It 
is  surprising,  as  well  as  amusing,  to  observe  how  success- 
fully the  ladies  are  imitated,  not  only  in  the  arrangement 
and  completeness  of  their  outfit,  the  grace  with  which  it 
is  worn,  and  the  advantageous  display  of  certain  personal 
charms,  but  also  in  that  coyness  and  diffidence  which  so 
powerfully  attract  our  sex.  It  is  easy  for  men  who  have 
not  spoken  to,  nor  heard  the  low  soft  voice  of  woman  for 
eighteen  months  or  two  years,  to  work  their  imaginations 
to  the  point  of  faith  in  the  actual  femininity  of  an  ideal. 
Miss  Florence  Harrison,  the  brunette,  or  Miss  Kate  Hay- 
ward,  the  blonde^  when  so  artfully  disguised,  and  the  re- 
sult on  the  one  hand,  is  all  the  gallantry  and  difference, 
and  on  the  other,  all  the  amiability  and  condescension, 
that  mark  the  bearing  of  sexes  toward  each  other,  in  the 
most  aristocratic  and  refined  society. 

Here  is  a  Confederate  cap  manufactory.  Look  at  that 
article  —  a  neater  and  better  one  than  you  could  buy  in 
"Dixie"  for  twenty  times  the  money  asked  for  it  here. 
He  gets  them  up  out  of  cast-off  uniforms,  selecting  a  sound 
piece  of  cloth,  here  and  there,  until  the  garment  only 
hangs  together  by  strips.  He  makes  a  great  many.  You 
may  see  them  all  over  the  prison.  The  knife  he  is  using, 
in  lieu  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  was  made  in  Block  "  Twelve," 
by  an  ingenious  and  eccentric  character  from  one  of  the 
border  counties  of  Western  Missouri,  who  goes  into  every 
block  and  room  with  the  enquiry,  shouted  at  the  top  of  his 
voice:  "Gentlemen,  hev  you  any  demned  old  files?"  mean- 
ing files  worn  out  by  the  manufacturers  of  prison  jewelry, 
who  are  counted  by  hundreds.  We  see  them  everywhere, 
sawing,  filing  and  polishing  finger-rings,  necklaces,  breast- 
pins and  bracelets,  all  made  of  gutta  percha,  and  set  with 
sea  shell,  pearl,  silver  or  gold.     Many  of  these  trinkets  are 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         335 

very  beautiful,  exhibiting  both  ingenuity  and  skill,  of  a 
high  order;  and  few  men  can  be  found  here  who  have  not 
tried  their  hand  upon  one  or  another  of  the  articles  named. 
They  are  sent  throughout  the  United  States,  to  the  kind 
ladies  who  contributed  so  much  to  our  comfort,  and  many 
are  carefully  preserved  to  be  carried  home  to  mothers, 
wives,  sisters  and  sweethearts. 

But  who  would  dream  of  a  photograph  gallery  being  car- 
ried on  in  such  a  place  as  this  ?     Nevertheless,  there  il  one 
here,  in  full  blast.     In  the  gable  end  of  Block  "  Three," 
you  will  perceive  a  small  opening,  made  by  removing  a 
portion  of  the  weather-boarding.     The  gallery  is  there, 
and  the  artist  manufactured   his    own    apparatus.      His 
operations  are  unknown  to  the  Federals,  who,  otherwise, 
might  cause  him  to  "  shut  up  shop."     An  entrance  to  the 
gallery  is  effected  by  means  of  a  hole  in  the  ceiling  of  the 
upper  story,  the  visitor  pulling  up  the  ladder  after  him- 
He  always  keeps  some  friend  on  the  qui  vive  for  the  ap- 
proach of  ''  blue  jackets."     He  gets  off  quite  a  creditable 
picture;   and  as  almost  every  prisoner   desires  to  take 
away  a  specimen  of  his  work  as  a  memento,  and  his  char- 
ges are  moderate,  it  is  quite  certain  that  he  will  soon  have 
a  plethoric  purse ;  for,  although  we  were  searched  before 
we  were  "turned  in,"  and  all  the  money  that  was  found  on 
our  persons  taken  from  us,  and  that  sent  us  no  letters  by 
friends,  is  retained  on  the  outside;  still,  many  succeed  in 
concealing  their  ''greenbacks"  so  effectually,  as  to  elude 
even  Yankee  vigilance. 

If  you  would  rather  have  a  portrait  than  a  photograph, 
we  will  call  on  our  old  friend  from  St.  Louis,  who,  with  an 
ordinary  lead  pencil,  will  furnish  you  with  a  tolerably  cor- 
rect picture.  He  has  been  here  a  long  time,  has  taken 
hundreds,  and  his  price  is  only  fifty  cents. 

Would  you  like  to  have  the  initials  of  your  wife's  name, 
or  some  motto  or  device  engraved  on  the  finger-ring  you 
purchased  in  Block  '^  Five  "  ?  if  so,  we  will  go  to  Block 


336         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

"  Two,"  where  we  will  find  a  wealthy  planter  from  Missis 
sippi,  who  follows  that  business.     He  will  charge  two  cents 
per  letter,  and  his  work  will  compare  favorably  with  the 
best  job  that  can  be  "turned  off"  in  Baltimore. 

The  man  that  has  just  passed  us,  carrying  several  old 
canteens,  is  our  tinner.  His  shop  is  in  Block  "Thirteen." 
He  is  a  very  useful  member  of  our  community.  Out  of 
canteens,  oyster  and  fruit  cans,  he  manufactures  tin  cups, 
and  various  other  curiously  formed  cooking  vessels,  for 
which,  even  in  prison  vocabulary,  no  name  has  been  found, 
and  repairs  coffee-pots.  I  am  getting  together  material  for 
a  prison  w^ork;  uncertain  when  I  shall  be  exchanged,  and 
fearing  that  my  manuscript  may  be  pronounced  contra- 
band, and  taken  from  me  when  I  start,  I  have  employed 
him  to  put  a  false  bottom,  which  shall  be  water-proof,  in 
my  canteen,  where  it,  together  with  many  small  articles, 
such  as  needles,  pins,  silk-thread,  &c.,  so  much  needed  in 
Dixie,  will  be  concealed. 

In  the  Block  on  our  left,  is  a  prisoner  who  manufactures 
chess-men.  You  may  be  curious  to  know  how  he  turns 
them.  There  is  a  man  in  Block  '•  Four,"  who  has  erected 
a  turning-lathe;  he  is  patronized  by  the  chess-men  maker, 
the  chair-maker,  and  the  can-maker. 

What  is  the  meaning  of  this :  "  In  Memory  of,"  &c.  ? 
These  are  boards  intended  to  mark  the  graves  of  Confed- 
erate officers  who  may  die  in  this  prison.  They  are  made 
and  lettered  by  Confederates,  and  the  work  is  neatly  done. 
Our  cemetery,  containing  about  a  fourth  of  an  acre,  enclosed 
with  a  neat  and  substantial  plank  fence,  white-washed, 
and  the  graves  carefully  sodded,  all  the  work  of  our  own 
hands,  is  located  at  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  Island. 
There  reposes  the  dust  of  some  three  hundred  of  our  coun- 
trymen. We  bury  our  own  dead,  and  on  such  occasions, 
like  our  working  parties,  we  are  always  attended  by  a  suf- 
ficient guard.  The  idea  of  dying  and  being  buried  on  this 
lone  Island  is  especially  distasteful  to  us  all.     The  desire 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.        337 

to  breathe  our  last  at  home,  surrounded  by  those  we  best 
love,  and  to  be  laid  away  by  their  tender  and  careful 
hands,  and  to  have  them  plant  flowers  upon  our  graves, 
and  bedew  them  with  the  tears  of  affection,  is  as  natural 
as  it  is  universal. 

''Grape!''  "grape!!"  ^'grape!!!"  from  a  thousand 
tongues!  What  does  it  mean?  I  don't  know  the  orio-in 
of  the  term  "  grape,"  as  used  in  this  connection.  You 
perceive,  however,  that  it  throws  the  prison  into  excite- 
ment, and  that  scores  of  men  are  wildly  rushing  towards 
the  prison  bulletin-board,  against  which  a  "  Yank,"  who 
has  just  come  in,  is  tacking  a  piece  of  paper.  It  means, 
as  used  here,  news  from  the  outside.  Perhaps  this  is  an 
announcement  of  a  great  battle,  or  that  in  which  all  feel, 
if  possible,  a  still  deejDcr  interest  —  an  exchange  of  prison- 
ers. The  probability  is,  however,  it  is  nothing  more  than 
some  unimportant  prison  order,  regulation  or  requirement. 
Yes,  it  is  the  latter;  for  see,  the  crowd  is  already  dispers- 
ing with  disappointment  plainly  marked  upon  the  faces  of 
all.  The  question  "  Is  there  any  grape  ?  "  or  "  Have  you 
heard  the  late  grape  ?  "  is  constantly  going  around.  Like 
the  curious  Athenians,  rebuked  by  Paul,  we  are  always  anx- 
ious to  hear  some  "  new  thing."  Nor  is  this  singular,  con- 
sidering our  lonely  and  isolated  condition,  and  the  stirring 
events  daily  transpiring  in  the  outside  world  —  events 
which  we  are  powerless  to  affect  either  one  way  or  anoth- 
er, but  in  which  we  have  such  deep  personal  interests. 

But  see,  there  is  something  like  a  "  row  "  at  Block  "Elev- 
en," and  one  man  is  receiving  rough  treatment.  That  is 
what  we  term  a  "  kicking  out."  The  recipient  of  the  kicks 
has  applied  to  Col.  Hill  for  permission  to  take  the  oath  of  al- 
legiance to  the  U.  S.  Government,  or,  in  prison  phraseology, 
he  has  "gone  back  on  the  Confederacy,"  and  his  messmates 
having  discovered  his  treachery,  are  summarily  ejecting  him 
from  their  quarters.  He  will  be  certain  to  complain  to  the 
authorities,  when  a  file  of  soldiers  will  be  marched  in,  and  he 
15 


338         TWENTT-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

will  be  reio stated;  but  as  soon  as  the  bayonets  are  withdrawn, 
he  will  be  again  •'  kicked  out,"  till  finally,  sore  from  kick- 
ing, spit  on  and  despised,  as  he  deserves  to  be,  his  very  life 
will  become  a  burden,  and  he  will  plead  to  be  placed  in 
that  little  building,  standing  between  the  "  dead  line  "  and 
the  prison  wall,  where  two  poor  fellows  under  sentence  of 
death  or  imprisonment  for  life,  as  bushwhackers  or  spies, 
have  been  confined  for  more  than  eighteen  months.  From 
this  time  forward,  he  will  not  be  recognized  by  any  Con- 
federate in  this  prison.  His  former  friends  will  not  speak 
to  him,  nor  allow  him  to  speak  to  them.  Every  hand  will 
be  against  him ;  every  tongue  will  hiss  at  him ;  every 
heart  will  loath  him.  Even  the  Federals,  whom  he  seeks 
to  propitiate,  will  regard  him  with  illy  concealed  scorn 
and  contempt.  And  why  is  this?  Not  because,  from 
principle,  he  has  taken  this  step,  for  in  that  there  would 
be  something  worthy  of  commendation  rather  than  cen- 
sure ;  but  because,  they  have  reason  to  believe,  it  was  the 
result  of  the  absence  of  all  principle.  Because,  they  be- 
lieved, he  had  not  the  manhood  to  endure  imprisonment, 
with  its  privations  and  suffering,  for  a  cause,  that,  in  his 
heart,  he  believes  is  just;  but  chose  rather  to  take  a  solemn 
oath  —  an  oath  that  he  is  too  cowardly  to  perform  —  to 
support  a  cause  that  he  believes  is  wrong. 

There  are  two  men  using  a  patent  clothes  washer  and 
wringer :  it  belongs  to  them,  and  they  are  making  it  pay, 
notwithstanding  there  are  at  least  fifty  washer-men  in  the 
prison.  You  would  be  astonished  to  see  how  neatly  these 
men  wash  and  do  up,  even  the  finest  linen.  There  are 
gentlemen  here,  who,  at  home,  have  thousands  of  broad 
acres,  and  can  command  thousands  of  dollars,  actually  en- 
gaged in  the  menial  drudgery  of  cooking,  washing  and 
wood-sawing  for  others,  who,  in  Dixie,  could  with  difficulty 
obtain  credit  for  a  trifling  sum.  The  first  class  have  no 
acquaintances  within  the  Federal  lines  to  whom  they  can 
apply  for  relief ;  the  second  class  have,  and  hence  they 
have  plenty  of  funds. 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         339 

That  large  building,  about  200  feet  in  length,  40  feet  in 
breadth,  and  two  stories  in  height,  is  the  Prison  Hospital. 
It  is  divided  into  four  wards,  and  is  always  crowded  with 
patients.  It  is  kept  so  scrupulously  neat,  and  is  so  free 
from  the  confusion  and  uproar  incident  to  the  other  blocks, 
that  it  is  almost  a  luxury  to  be  sick  enough  to  entitle 
you  to  admission.  The  patients  are  treated  by  none  but 
Confederate  physicians,  of  whem  there  are  quite  a  goodly 
number  in  prison.  These  gentlemen  are  untiring  in  the 
discharge  of  their  voluntarily  assumed,  and,  so  far  as  money 
is  concerned,  unrequited  labors.  Their  conduct  is  worthy 
the  highest  commendation.  The  medicines  used,  are  sup- 
plied by. the  United  States  Government,  but  most  of  the 
delicacies  used  to  tempt  the  appetites  of  the  sick,  by  con- 
tributions from  their  fellow-prisoners.  In  this  Hospital 
we  find  a  beautiful  exemplification  of  the  virtues  of  Free 
Masonry.  There  are  many  members  of  the  Order  in  the 
prison.  These  are  thoroughly  organized,  and  not  only 
supply  the  sick  with  many  delicate  and  tempting  articles 
of  food,  but  furnish  constant  details  for  hospital  service  as 
nurses,  &c.,  who  are  instructed  not  to  confine  their  minis- 
trations to  their  brethren,  but  to  extend  them  to  others, 
whenever  they  can  do  so,  without  prejudicing  the  comfort 
of  those  who  have  no  especial  claim  upon  their  attention. 

That  little  building  in  rear  of  the  hospital,  is  the 

"Prison  Dead-House,  where 
Few  mourners  come  to  weep  !  " 

It  is  seldom  without  a  pale  and  pulseless  inmate. 

You  have  noticed.  In  passing,  one  or  more  little  stands 
or  tables,  in  each  block,  on  which  butter,  flour,  sugar,  cof- 
fee and  vegetables  were  exposed  for  sale.  The  men  en- 
gaged in  this  business,  are  known  as  sub-sutlers.  They 
are  Confederates,  and  sell  for  the  chief,  or  Yankee  Sutler, 
on  commission.  And  just  here,  I  may  remark,  that  the 
privilege  of  acting  as  sutler  to  this  prison  is  very  profita- 


340         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

ble.  His  profits  for  one  year  must  amount  to  a  handsome 
fortune.  Half  a  dozen  assistants  are  constantly  busy 
waiting  on  customers,  and  the  percentage  realized  is  enor- 
mous. Three  or  four  prices  are  charged  for  every  thing 
that  is  sold,  and  his  money  can  be  turned  over  every  day. 
The  amount  of  money  forwarded  to  prisoners  is  enormous, 
averaging,  probably,  five  thousand  dollars  per  week. 
Nearly  the  whole  of  this  goes  into  the  pocket  of  the  sut- 
ler, prison  rations  being  not  only  sadly  inadequate  in 
quantity,  but,  with  the  exception  of  the  bread,  against 
which,  as  a  general  rule,  no  complaint  can  be  made,  highly 
objectionable  in  quality. 

But  I  see  our  cook  beckoning  us  to  dinner.  -Having 
dined,  we  will  now  fill  our  pipes  and  indulge  a  whiff  of 
the  weed.  The  number  of  prisoners  who  abstain  from  the 
use  of  tobacco  in  some  form,  is  very  small.  The  soothing 
effects  of  the  narcotic  upon  the  mind,  and  the  want  of  bet- 
ter employment,  is  the  secret  of  this  habit. 

This  morning  your  attention  was  drawn  to  the  Inrge 
proportion  of  prisoners  engaged  in  writing.  They  were 
writing  letters.  Each  prisoner  may  write  two  letters  per 
week,  being  careful  to  confine  himself  to  one  page  of  com- 
mon size  letter  j^aper.  At  one  period  since  my  arrival,  we 
were  allowed  to  write  one  letter  daily,  and  as  at  least  one- 
third  of  the  prisoners  wrote  each  day,  from  five  to  seven 
thousand  letters  were  mailed  per  week.  This  number  per 
week  has  not  been  materially  diminished  by  the  existing 
restriction,  for  almost  every  man  writes  two  letters,  and 
there  are  upwards  of  three  thousand  officers  confined 
here.  Some  write  as  many  letters  as  they  wish,  each  mail. 
This  is  accomplished  by  changing  chirography,  and  bor- 
rowing the  names  of  such  of  our  acquaintances  as  do  not 
wish  to  write.  You  will  be  curious  to  know  how  those  to 
whom  such  letters  written  in  a  strange  hand,  over  a 
strange  name,  comprehend  the  actual  author.  This  diffi- 
culty is  readily  overcome  by  some  familiar  allusion  which 
serves  as  a  key  to  unlock  the  mystery  of  authorship. 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         341 

"  To  whom  do  wc  write  so  many  letters?"  To  home- 
folks  in  "  Dixie,"  and  to  persons  throughout  the  United 
States,  especially  to  our  female  relatives.  Since  the  pro- 
mulgation of  the  order  prohibiting  our  receiving  "  aid  and 
comfort "  from  any  but  relatives,  we  have  discovered  that 
we  are  akin  to  all  the  ladies  of  rebellious  proclivities,  in 
the  country.  They  are  our  "  sisters,"  "  aunts,"  "  cousins," 
and  "  grand-mothers,"  while  we  suddenly  find  ourselves 
the  "  brothers,"  "  nephews,"  "  cousins  "  and  even  "  grand- 
sires  "  of  hundreds  of  the  purest,  loveliest  and  most  kind- 
hearted  beings  in  the  "  wide,  wide  world."  It  is  remark- 
able, that  prior  to  our  imprisonment,  we  had  entirely  lost 
sight  of  so  many  of  our  kinsfolk,  with  whom,  according 
to  their  story,  and  our  suddenly  revived  recollections,  we 
played  "  hide  and  go  seek  "  in  our  childhood,  or  whose  cra- 
dle lullabies  soothed  to  peaceful  slumber  the  fretfulness  of 
infancy. 

It  is  said  that,  a  few  weeks  ago,  an  officer  solicited  an 
interview  with  the  Commandant  of  the  Prison.  Is  was 
granted.  "Well,  sir,"  said  that  Federal  official,  "what 
can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Why,  Col.  Hill,  I  feel  that  a  change  of  diet  would  be 
of  great  benefit,  and  I  desire  permission  to  make  some 
purchases  in  Sandusky ;  a  little  sugar,  coffee,  cheese,  a  box 
or  two  of  sardines,  some  pickles,  canned  fruits,  &c.,  you 
know." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  a  permit  to  apply  to  a  relative  for 
these  articles  ?  you  know  it  would  be  a  violation  of  the 
existing  order,  to  allow  you  to  obtain  them  from  any  other 
source?  " 

"I  am  aware  of  that  fact.  Colonel,  but  you  will  under- 
stand that  I  have  no  relative  within  the  Federal  lines." 

"  No  relatives  within  the  Federal  lines !  Why,  how 
long  have  you  been  here?" 

*' About  nine  months,  Colonel." 

"  What !     Been  here  nine  months  and  found  no  relative 


342         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

in  all  that  time  ?  AVhy,  had  I  been  in  your  place,  Captain, 
I  would  have  discovered  at  least  a  dozen  in  half  the  time. 
Go  back  and  retrospect  your  boyhood,  and  I  am  confident 
you  will  find  that  you  have  a  sister,  or  brother,  or  aunt,  or 
uncle,  or  cousin,  or  grandfather,  somewhere  within  our 
lines !  '^ 

It  is  needless  to  add  that  the  Captain  took  the  hint,  and 
that  his  larder  was  soon  supplied  with  the  desired  luxu- 
ries. I  will  not  vouch  for  the  truth  of  this  anecdote,  but 
as  the  Commandant  is,  in  my  opinion,  a  gentleman  of  gen- 
erous impulses,  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  give  it  full  credit. 

We  do  not  feel  that  Heaven  frowns  upon  a  "pious 
fraud  "  like  this  ;  while  the  spirit  of  romance  attending  a 
correspondence  of  this  character,  is  positively  enchanting. 
Doubtless,  through  such  a  channel,  tender  and  peculiar 
hopes  have  been  already  awakened,  and  the  origin  of  many 
a  joyous  bridalj  "  when  this  cruel  war  is  over,"  may  be 
traced  to  prison  correspondence.  Gratitude  is  closely  al- 
lied to  love ;  and  no  portion  of  a  woman's  life  is  so  lovea- 
ble  as  that  devoted  to  the  relief  of  human  suffering.  The 
voice  that  speaks  of  loved  ones  far  away,  is  ever  burdened 
with  melody ;  the  form  that  bends  over  the  couch  of  the 
invalid,  is  ever  graceful ;  the  hand  that  bathes  the  fever- 
throbbing  temple  is  ever  soft ;  the  bosom  that  pillows 
the  aching  head  is  ever  affectionate  and  true,  and  the 
tear  of  sympathy  never  fails  to  brighten,  with  an  angelic 
radiance,  even  the  dullest  eye. 

I  ought  to  have  taken  you  to  our  libraries.  We  have 
two :  one  of  these  is  a  miscellaneous  library,  and  is  an  in- 
dividual enterprise  ;  the  other  is  composed  of  religious 
works  exclusively,  and  belongs  to  the  "Young  Men's 
Christian  Association".  Each  contains  some  five  or  six 
hundred  volumes.  Prisoners  are  in  constant  receipt  of 
books,  from  their  friends,  which,  having  read,  they  take 
to  the  one  or  the  other  of  these  libraries,  as  the  fitness  of 
things  may  require,  and  trade  them  for  the  loan  of  other 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.        343 

books  which  they  have  not  read.  Again,  donations  of 
books  are  occasionally  made  to  the  library  of  the  "Young 
Men's  Christian  Association."  In  these  and  other  ways, 
these  libraries  have  been  built  up. 

The  prisoner  who  owns  the  Miscellaneous  Library,  is 
making  money  by  letting  out  his  books  to  his  fellows.  Ko 
charge  is  made  for  the  use  of  the  books  of  the  library  of 
the  Christian  Association,  except  barely  enough  to  defray 
some  trivial  incidental  expenses. 

There  are  many  pious  men  among  us,  including  some 
learned  and  eloquent  divines.  In  fair  weather,  these  gen- 
tlemen preach  in  the  open  air,  and  never  lack  for  large 
and  attentive  congregations.  "W  e  never  fail  to  have  preach- 
ing on  the  Sabbath,  and,  generally,  twice  or  thrice  during 
the  week.  Beside,  we  have  Union  Prayer-meetings,  Bible 
classes,  and  Sabbath  schools.  The  spiritual  interests  of 
the  sick  are  not  neglected,  for  religious  services  are  held 
twice  a  week,  in  the  Hospital.  Prisoners  are  frequently 
converted  and  received  into  the  denomination  of  their 
choice.  I  am  happy  to  say  that  denominational  prejudices 
here,  are  not  strong.  We  have  a  Federal  chaplain,  but 
his  office  is  that  of  a  sinecure.  He  seldom  attempts  to 
preach;  and  even  when  he  does,  few,  very  few,  attend. 

Tour  attention  wag  attracted  to  the  various  squads  of 
prisoners  engaged  at  games  of  cards,  dominoes,  back-gam- 
mon, dice,  chess,  &c.  Many  of  the  prisoners  devote  all 
their  time  to  gaming,  hardly  pausing  to  eat;  and  here,  as 
in  the  outside  world,  gambling  is  attended  with  cheating 
and  profanity.  Large  sums  are  lost  and  won  ;  sometimes 
the  stakes  are  "greenback,"  sometimes  Confederate  cur- 
rency, and,  not  unfrequently,  written  promises  to  pay  at 
some  future-  day  whea  the  parties  return  to  the  Southern 
Confederacy. 

Drunkenness,  however,  is  a  vice  almost  unknown  in 
prison.  There  are  scores  of  men  here  who,  though  often 
inebriated  prior  to  their  incarceration,  have  not  tasted  a 


344         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  Or  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

drop  of  liquor  since.  Why?  Because  they  can't  get  it. 
Many  bottles  of  old  bourbon,  and  cognac,  and  claret,  and 
charapagne  are  sent  here  by  friends,  but  those  for  whom 
they  were  designed,  are  merely  tantalized  by  a  sight,  and 
then,  being  numbered  among  "  contraband  '■*  articles,  they 
are  sent  out  again.  I  don't  know  what  goes  with  all  those 
fine  liquors  —  don't  know  who  drinks  them,  on  the  outside; 
in  fact,  don't  know  whether  they  are  drank  there,  at  all ; 
but  I  do  know  they  never  come  back  again. 

I  am  not  a  drinking  man,  never  was,  hope  I  will 
never  be;  but  still,  I  think  I  can  imagine,  somewhat,  the 
torture  endured  by  a  man  who,  fond  of  a  "smile"  —  and 
not  having  indulged  in  that  luxury,  so  much  as  once,  for 
a  period  of  eighteen  weary  months,  or  two  years  —  sees 
the  bead-covered  beverage,  which  by  every  rule  of  justice 
is  his,  taken  away,  while  he  pleads  in  most  earnest  and 
pathetic  tones  for  ^'just  one  taste,'^  and  that  being  denied, 
frantically  implores  the  tantalizing  boon  of  smelling  the 
"  stopper,"  only  to  be  denied  again.  It  would  be  carr^nng 
the  idea  of  human  compassion 'very  far  to  suppose  that 
such  a  man,  once  exchanged  and  returned  to  the  battle-, 
field,  would,  under  any  conceivable  state  of  things,  spare 
a  Yankee. 

The  police  regulations  of  the  prison  are  complete.  They 
are  enforced  by  details,  each  day,  from  the  different  blocks. 
Each  block  has  its  regularly  elected  chief,  whose  orders 
are  strictly  obeyed;  hence,  the  cleanliness  of  our  quarters 
and  the  prison  grounds,  generally.  Last  Fall,  one  hundred 
Confederate  privates  were  sent  here  from  Camp  ChasQj  to 
do  our  policing.  As  soon  as  they  arrived,  and  we  learned 
for  what  purpose,  we  assured  them  that  it  was  without 
our  seeking,  and  urged  them  to  positively  refuse  to  play 
so  menial  a  part.  They  did  refuse,  though  brought  out 
several  times  by  Federal  Corporals,  and,  finally,  the  project 
was  abandoned. 

Having  finished  our  "smoke,"  we  will  walk  out  again. 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.         345 

Do  you  observe  that  Confederate  officer  on  the  platform 
of  the  stairs  of  Block  "  One"  ?  He  is  looking  through  a 
glass,  very  intently,  at  some  object,  just  on  the  outside,  and 
it  is  evident  that  he  is  laboring  under  strong  excitement. 
We  will  go  up.  Ah!  the  thing  is  explained.  There  is  a 
beautiful  lady  over  there,  some  forty  or  fifty  paces  from 
the  prison  wall.  She  has  a  glass  directed  towards  him. — 
See,  she  removes  the  glass  and  applies  her  handkerchief 
to  her  eyes.  She  is  weeping.  Come  away,  there  is  some- 
thing too  sacred  in  this  for  third  parties ;  and  my  own 
heart  is  aching,  and  my  own  eyes  are  filling.  I  too  have 
a  wife,  *' away  down  South,"  who,  though  she  were  to  travel 
alone,  a  thousand  miles  to  reach  Johnson's  Island,  as  that 
man's  wife  has,  would  not  be  allowed  to  exchange  one  poor 
little  word  with  me,  or  even  to  make  one  sign  with  her  hand, 
though  we  had  been  separated  twice  twelve  long  and  weary 
months  ;  aye,  though  I  lay  on  my  hard  bunk  breathing  my 
last,  and  she  went  down  on  her  knees  and  prayed  and  im- 
plored to  be  allowed  to  come  in,  that  she  might  give  one 
last  clasp  to  my  wasted  hand,  and  press  one  last  kiss  upon 
my  fever- parched  lips,  and  then  return  broken-hearted, 
widowed,  and  desolate, —  that  petition,  however  moved  by 
it  the  Commandant  of  the  prison  might  and  would  be, 
could  not  be  granted  without  the  assent  of  a  superior  of- 
ficer far  away; — perhaps  asleep  and  unwilling  to  be  dis- 
turbed; perhaps  attending  a  Presidential  levee,  or  a  Sena- 
torial ball,  or  an  oyster  supper,  or  a  wine  party  given  by 
some  vulgar  upstart  Shoddycrat;  and  even  when  found, 
perhaps  refusing  to  attend  to  any  business  outside  office 
hours,  and  then  only  such  as  might  jDresent  itself  attended 
by  all  the  formal  tomfooleries  of  "  red-tape  "  ! 

I  ought  to  take  you  to  our  Lyceum,  but  as  the  discus- 
sion is  probably  half  gone  through  with  ere  this,  and  as 
the  Island  steamer  is  now  nearing  the  landing,  we  will  re- 
main just  here,  and  see  whether  there  are  any  prisoners 
aboard.  Ah !  do  you  hear  that  cry  of  "  Fresh  fish,  fresh 
15* 


346         TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

fish  !  "  from  the  men  standing  on  the  stairs  of  Blocks 
"  One"  and  "  Two,"  watching  the  approach  of  the  boat? 
That  cry  always  announces  the  coming  of  a  new  squad  of 
our  countrymen,  whom  the  uncertain  chances  of  war  have 
doomed  to  a  lingering  captivity.  See,  the  boat  has  touch- 
ed the  pier,  and  the  "  grey  jackets,"  accompanied  by  a 
strong  guard,  are  filing  off,  and  marching  up  the  lawn  to- 
ward the  residence  of  the  prison  commandant.  J^ow  they 
are  halted  and  "  fronted."  l^ow  their  names,  rank.  State, 
regiment,  place  and  date  of  capture,  &c.,  are  being  record- 
ed, after  which  they  will  be  searched  for  weapons,  money, 
&c.,  and  then  they  will  be  marched  m. 

Observe  how  intense  the  excitement  among  the  old  res- 
identers.  Three-fourths  of  them  have  already  arranged 
themselves  in  two  long  lines,  facing  inward,  extending  on 
each  side  of  Main  street,  nearly  three  hundred  yards. 

Il^ow  the  gate  opens,  and  with  clothes  soiled,  faded  and 
torn,  covered  with  dust,  and  in  many  cases,  stained  with 
blood,  they  sweep  inward  and  onward.  Now  the  singular 
cry  that  announced  their  approach  to  the  Island,  swells  in 
volume,  until  it  rolls  like  a  mighty  billow  of  human  voices 
over  the  vast  and  motley  throng.  The  new-comers  are 
sadly  disappointed.  Where  they  expected  expressions  of 
sympathy,  they  find,  what  seems  to  them,  heartless  ridi- 
cule and  derision.  As  soon,  however,  as  they  cross  the 
"  dead  line  "  and  enter  the  space  between  the  long  lines 
of  faces,  the  strange  and  ofl'ensive  cry  is  succeeded  by 
such  questions  as,  "  Where  were  you  captured  ? "  "  To 
what  command  did  you  belong?"  "How  many  of  you 
there?"  while  here  and  there  mutual  recognitions  occur, 
succeeded  by  hearty  shaking  of  hands,  accompanied  by 
exclamations  of  surprise  and  delight,  and  the  poor  tired 
fellows  are  literally  dragged,  neck  and  heels,  away  to  hos- 
pitable quarters,  where  new  robes  are  brought  forth,  and 
pino-s — gutta-percha  —  put  on  their  fingers,  and  fatted 
calves  slain,  and  where  there  is  feasting  and  dancing. 


TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE.        347 

Those,  however,  who  have  no  acquaintances  among  the 
old  prisoners,  do  not  fare  so  well.  The  Federals  do  not  assign 
them  special  quarters.  Once  inside,  they  are  turned  loose 
to  shift  for  themselves.  They  feel  very  lonely,  though  in  the 
midst  of  hundreds  of  their  fellow  countrymen.  They  soon 
begin  to  realize  that  they  must  look  out  for  "  number  one." 
All  are  sorry  for  them  —  few  sorry  enough  to  help  them, 
for  men  are  as  selfish  in  prison,  perhaps  more  so  than  any- 
where else.  All  the  surroundings  of  prison  life  tend  to 
develop  and  nourish  this  hateful  principle.  If  there  is  a 
mean  strer.k  in  a  man,  prison  life  will  disclose  it.  They 
wander  from  block  to  block,  from  room  to  room,  inquiring 
"  Is  this  Block  filled?  "  "  Is  there  a  vacant  bunk  in  this 
room?  "  almost  everywhere  receiving  the  answers  :  "Yes, 
this  room  will  not  hold  any  more  !  "  "  No,  there  is  no  va- 
cant bunk  here  !  "  They  look  with  dissatisfied  counten- 
ances at  the  size  of  the  rooms,  and  seem  to  be  comjoaring 
that  with  the  number  of  occupants.  They  cast  their  eyes 
along  the  walls  on  either  side,  and  they  discover  that 
places  where  bunks  once  stood  are  now  vacant,  or  nearly 
so.  The  scales  begin  to  fall  from  their  eyes;  they  begin 
to  "  see  men  as  trees  walking."  They  congregate  in 
knots  and  compare  notes,  and  the  conclusion  is,  that  the 
old  prisoners  are  not  disposed  to  do  the  fair  thing.  At  this 
stage  of  the  game,  some  good-hearted  man  steps  up  and 
assures  them  there  is  plenty  of  room ;  that  bunks  in  cer- 
tain Blocks  have  been  cut  down  ,and  burned  up  by  the  pris- 
oners, to  keep  others  from  coming  in ;  and  winds  up,  by 
counselling  them  to  go  and  take  possession  of  all  places  from 
which  bunks  have  been  removed,  and  call  in  the  Yankee 
carpenter  to  replace  them  with  new  ones.  This  settles 
the  matter.  Their  "  metal  "  is  now  up.  They  walk  in 
and  assert  their  rights,  which  are  surlily  admitted ;  and 
within  the  next  forty-eight  hours,  new  bunks  are  erected 
and  they  have  a  home;  and  within  less  than  one  month, 
the  new-comers  will  be  bawling  "  Fresh  Fish  "  as  loudly 


348        TWENTY-FOUR  HOURS  OF  FEDERAL  PRISON  LIFE. 

as  any,  and  as  readily  and  stoutly  denying  that  there  ie 
room  in  their  Blocks  for  so  much  as  another  man. 

Hark!  the  drum  is  beating  to  quarters,  so  we  must  go 
in  ;  but  first  cast  your  eye  over  the  grounds  and  see  how 
the  vast  multitude  which  for  the  last  two  hours  has  been 
promenading  Xain  street,  the  cross  streets  and  alleys,  is 
scattering  in  all  directions,  each  man  making  for  his  own 
Block. 

Now  all  have  disappeared.  The  grounds  which  but  a 
moment  ago,  resounded  with  a  thousand  foot-falls,  and 
echoed  to  a  thousand  voices,  is  now  as  silent  and  lonely 
as  an  Arabian  desert. 

We  must  not  attempt  to  pass  from  one  Block  to  another 
until  after  reveille  to-morrow  morning.  It  would  be  con- 
trary to  orders,  and  we  might  be  shot.  And  if  we  were, 
we  would  deserve  no  sympathy ;  no  man,  who  needlessly 
and  wilfully  encounters  danger,  knowing  the  probable 
consequences  of  his  folly,  is  entitled  to  sympathy.  So 
we  will  sit  here  in  our  room  and  converse  until  we  grow 
sleepy,  but  not  beyond  "tajys"  and  the  cry  of  "Lights 
OUT  !  "  or  a  minie  ball  may  come  splintering  through  the 
walk  Indeed  we  are  not  always  safe  here,  even  when  we 
strictly  observe  the  rules  of  the  Prison.  In  proof  of  this, 
I  need  only  mention  an  occurrence  that  came  immediate- 
ly under  my  own  observation.  Not  long  since,  after  the 
lights  were  extinguished  and  perfect  quiet  reigned  in  our 
room,  in  Block  "Five,"  a  ball  entered,  and  broke  a  bone 
in  the  arm  of  Lieutenant  Dillard,  of  Mississippi,  who  was 
passing  along  towards  his  bunk,  and  badly  wounding 
Lieutenant  Inman,  of  North  Carolina,  while  he  was  sleep- 
ing soundly.  This  affair  created  some  excitement,  even 
among  the  Federal  officers,  and  we  supposed  the  offender 
would  be  punished,  but,  so  far  as  we  know,  nothing  was 
done. 

"  Taps  "  !     There  it  is  —  "  Lights  out !  "  be  quick !    The 
day  is  over,  and  you  know  something  of  prison  life  at 


COL.   AV.  W.  FONTAINE,  OF  VIRGINIA.  349 

Johnson's  Island,  You  have  learned  that  we  are  a  com- 
munity within  ourselves;  that  we  present  an  epitome 
of  a  great  city,  with  its  schools,  libraries  and  theatres  ;  its 
literary  and  religious  associations  ;  its  professional  men  ; 
its  teachers  ;  its  ministers ;  its  students  ;  its  merchants  ; 
its  artizans ;  its  mechanics ;  its  gamblers ;  its  loafers ;  its 
sanitary  regulations ;  its  charitable  institutions ;  its  vir- 
tues and  vices  ;  its  pleasures  and  pains;  its  joys  and  sor- 
rows; its  living  and  its  dead. 

Now  for  sweet  dreams  of  liberty,  and  love,  and  home. 
Good  Night ! 


C0I.  Wi-  Wixix^imx  i,oix\mnt,  oi  §irgmm. 


Col.  W.  Winston  Fontaine,  of  Virginia,  was  bora  at  Montville,  King 
William  county,  Va.,  on  November  27th,  1834.  His  father.  Col.  William 
Spottswood  Fontaine,  is  of  Huguenot  extraction  on  the  paternal  side,  be- 
ing a  descendant  of  John  de  la  Fontaine,  a  French  nobleman  and  officer 
in  the  household  of  Francis  I.  On  the  maternal  side,  Col.  Fontaine  (the 
father)  is  the  great  grandson  of  Sir  Alexander  Spottswood.  His  wife 
(mother  of  Col.  Fontaine)  is  a  lineal  descendant  of  Thomas  West,  Lord 
Delaware,  and  a  grand-daughter  of  Patrick  Henry.  Col:  Fontaine  has, 
consequently,  a  lineage  especially  notable,  and  the  blood  of  three  distin- 
guished Governors  of  Virginia  flowed  in  his  veins.  He  received  a  military 
education  at  the  Rumford  Military  Academy,  and  subsequently  studied  at 
the  University  of  Virginia.  After  leaving  college  he  commenced  teaching, 
and,  at  the  commencement  of  the  war,  was  a  Professor  in  the  Pegram 
School,  at  Richmond.  On  the  25th  of  April,  1861,  he  entered  the  Confed- 
erate service,  in  the  Richmond  Fayette  Artillery,  and  on  the  evening  of 
the  same  day,  married  Mary,  only  daughter  of  Rev.  J.  L.  Burrows,  D.D., 
of  Richmond.     He  held,  subsequently,  the  positions  of  1st  Lieutenant, 


350  VIRGINIA   DESOLATE. 

Henrico  Artillery,  Col.  George  "W.  Randolph  ;  Captain  of  Cavalry,  in  the 
Virginia  State  Line ;  volunteer  aid  to  Gen.  Stuart,  in  the  Seven  Days' 
battles  before  Richmond;  Col.  of  Cavalry,  under  Gen.  Floyd,  in  South- 
western Virginia  and  elsewhere,  until  the  disbandment  of  the  State  Line 
troops  ;  1st  Lieutenant  of  Cavalry,  C.  S.  A.,  and  drill-master  to  the  46th 
Battalion  Virginia  Cavalry,  Jackson's  Brigade.  He  was  captured,  while 
on  a  scout,  near  Martinsburg,  on  the  16th  of  September,  1864,  and  taken 
to  Johnson's  Island,  where  he  remained  till  June  16th,  1865.  He  is  now 
the  highly  respected  and  popular  Principal  of  the  Young  Ladies'  Seminary, 
at  Fredericksburg,  Va.,  and  has  lately  (July,  1866)  received  peculiarly 
flattering  endorsements  from  many  of  the  leading  citizens  of  that  town 
and  county.  Col.  Fontaine  is  a  somewhat  voluminous  writer,  especially 
of  poetry,  and  will  no  doubt  be,  at  an  early  day,  better  known  in  the 
world  of  letters,  through  a  published  collection,  of  which  the  few  articles 
from  his  pen  here  given,  can  only  afford  a  pleasant  foretaste. 

YIEGINIA  DESOLATE. 


O  Yirginia,  fair  Yirginia,  queen  of  all  our  sunny  land, 
Of  the  warlike  Southern  sisters,  thou  the  chosen  of  the 

band. 
Thou  didst  pledge  us,  royal  sister!   tho'  thy  pledge  was 

not  in  wine, 
And  the  rivers  ran  all  crimsoned  with  that  deep,  dark 

pledge  of  thine. 
Here  we  crown  thee  in  thy  sorrow :  thou  hast  bowed  be- 
neath the  rod, 
While  the  foemen  o'er  thy  teeming  fields  relentlessly  have 

trod. 
Thy  homesteads  lie  in  ruins,  and  thj  daughters  wander 

far, 
And  thy  sons,  amid  the  foremost  ranks,  have  borne  the 

brunt  of  war. 
Upon  thy  haught}^  heraldry,  thy  proud  and  high  archives, 
In  their  blood  their  names  immortal  are  written  on  those 

leaves. 
O  Yirginia  !  fair  Yirginia  !  unpolluted  be  thy  soil. 
Beneath  it  many  a  soldier-heart  hath  rested  from  its  toil. 


VIRGINIA   DESOLATE.  351 

From  the  mountains  to  thy  waters,  that  meet  the  deep, 

dark  main, 
Thy  plains  smile  green  and  fertile  with  the  life-blood  of 

our  slain; 
The  breeze  that  sweeps  the  hill-side,  bearing  Southward 

to  the  sea, 
Hath  a  moan  upon  its  murmuring — a  requiem  for  thee  I 
And  we  waft  thee  on  a  summer's  wind,  a  bleeding  sister's 

sigh, 
For  her  gallant  sons,  who  on  thy  plains  have  lain  them 

down  to  die. 
So  in  our  hearts  we  shrine  thee,  and  we  crown  thy  regal 

brow  : 
O,  queen,  our  sons  sleep  on  thy  breast !  a  fond,  fond  mother, 

thou ! 

'Tis  mid  May  in  our  sunny  land  —  our  land  of  love  and 

flowers, 
Growing  wildly  in   our  woodlands,  woven  deftly  in  our 

bowers. 
And  our  dark-eyed  maids  go  tripping,  tripping  lightly  o'er 

the  green  — 
Gorgeous  skies  and  silver  streamlets,  all  bedazzling  in  their 

sheen, 
In  the  cup  of  red  wine  sparkling,  yet,  yet,  I  cannot  sip, 
For  the  tears  have  gathered  in  mine  eyes  as  I  press  it  to 

my  lip ; 
And  my  heart  goes  back  in  yearning  over  land  and  over 

sea  — 
Ah  !  the  lips  are  cold  and  silent  that  pledged  this  cup  with 

me. 
And  thus,  O,  fair  Virginia !  when  the  golden  hours  flit  by. 
We  mourn  for  those  who  on  thy  fields  have  lain  them 

down  to  die. 


352  IN    MEMORIAM   ^TERNAM. 


Jn  Ht-cmoriam  §.^t^nTcjm  —  gin  ^xoilm- 


BY  COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


When  first  the  clarion  blast  of  civil  war 

Broke  on  the  stillness  of  the  mountain  height ; 

It  fell  upon  your  young  and  eager  ear, 
And  roused  you  for  the  fratricidal  fight. 

Though  young  in  years,  yours  was  a  valiant  soul ; 

Modest  in  mien,  yours  was  a  lion's  heart ; 
Your  name's  inscribed  on  glory's  shining  roll, 

For  it  was  yours  to  act  a  patriot  part. 

"  Where  ^Nongahela's  limpid  waters  rise, 

And  where  the  orange  and  the  fig-tree  grow, 
Fight  for  our  homes  and  for  our  native  skies, 
'Long  as  one  Southron's  blood  remains  to  flow. 

Such  were  your  words  of  lofty,  manly  cheer, 
That  sought  me  far  'neath  Carolina's  pines; 

And  such  the  words  that  should  for  you  uj)rear, 
One  beautiful  amid  the  patriot  shrines. 

And  well  didst  you,  the  glorious  lesson  teach, 
By  precept  and  example  valorous  well ; 

For  you  were  foremost  in  the  deadly  breach, 
And  'neath  your  torn  and  streaming  ensign  fell. 

For  Death,  who  ever  loves  a  mark  of  flame. 
Made  you  a  target  for  his  fate-winged  dart; 

And  sadly  certain  was  the  Circher  aim, 

That  stilled  the  beatings  of  your  youthful  heart. 

'Twas  mete,  my  boy,  that  you  should  thus  resign, 
Your  young  life  at  Virginia's  touching  cry ; 


IN    MEMORIAM   ^TERNAM.  353 

Should'st  freely  pour  your  heart's  libation  wine, 
And  in  the  foremost  rank  of  freedom  die. 

Yet  it  was  sad  that  in  your  dying  hour, 
You  saw  confusion  and  the  beaten  rout. 

Saw  clouds  upon  your  favorite  banner  lower. 
And  heard  the  exultant  foeman's  triumj)h  shout. 

And  all  uncared  for  on  that  bloody  day. 
Were  you,  my  brother,  on  that  field  afar ; 

ISTo  gentle  woman  knelt  by  you  to  pray, 

Nor  smoothed  the  tangles  of  your  clotted  hair. 

No  friendly  hand  didst  bear  you  to  your  tomb, 
ISTo  cry  of  anguish  uttered  there  no  grief; 

No  roses  scattered  —  no  violets  bloom, 
To  typify  a  life  so  true  and  brief. 

But  stranger  hands  did  rudely  dig  your  grave, 
And  foeman  jested,  as  your  corse  they  threw. 

With  blood  and  dust  begrimed  among  the  brave. 
Who  died  with  you,  the  dutiful  and  true. 

Yet,  there  are  those  who  will  forever  keep 

Your  memory  green  —  will  often  drop  the  tear 

Of  love  and  friendship  on  your  dreamless  sleep, 
And  strew,  with  flowers  sweet,  your  hallowed  bier, 

Farewell,  my  brother,  youngest,  most  beloved  1 
The  battle  shout  shall  stir  your  blood  no  more ; 

Your  course  by  God  —  your  country —  all — approved, 
Eest  you  in  peace,  your  soldier  toils  are  o'er. 

Johnson's  liland,  July  8th,  1865. 


354  I  AM  COMING,  ella! 


f  am  Coming,  6IIa! 


BY  ADJUTANT  JOHN  U.  SHERTER. 


I  AM  coming,  Ella,  coming, 

Though  the  moment  still  be  far ; 
Yet  the  prison  gates  will  open. 

And  sweet  peace  succeed  stern  war. 
In  my  fancy's  flight  I  see  you 

Standing  by  your  cottage  door, — 
Hoping,  waiting  for  the  moment 

That's  to  join  as  evermore. 

I  am  coming,  Ella,  coming, 

Drive  the  sorrow  from  your  cheek  I 
Have  the  words  upon  your  lips  — 

The  loving  words  you  used  to  speak. 
Dash  the  trembling  tears  that  sparkle. 

From  your  soft  and  loving  eye. 
And  let  smother  ere  it  pain  you  — 

That  fair  bosom's  rising  sigh. 

I  am  coming,  Ella,  coming, 

Though  the  night  be  long  and  drear ; 
Stealing  through  the  mists  of  morning, 

The  day-god's  beams  announce  him  near. 
Now  I  touch  your  tender  hand, 

And  feel  your  warm  breath  on  my  cheek ; 
And  I  hear  with  soul  enraptured, 

Loving  accents  when  you  speak. 

Do  I  wake,  or  am  I  dreaming  ? 

Is  your  voice  the  sound  I  hear  ? 
Xo,  it  is  the  lake's  sad  moan 

That  floats  in  murmurs  on  my  ear; 


LISTENING.  355 

And  the  vision  of  your  form  melts 
'Neath  the  dewy  morning  light  — 

Passing  through  the  vale  of  dreams 
With  all  the  shadows  of  the  night. 


yist^nhtg. 


BY   LIEUTENANT    E.    C.    MCCARTHY. 


Under  the  evening  shadows, 

Ere  the  long  day  was  done, 
Dreamily  in  the  gloaming, 

After  the  set  of  the  sun, — 
Lingered  a  maiden,  sadly ; 

Tears  in  her  drooping  eye  ; 
Listening  to  memories  holy, — 

Thoughts  of  the  days  gone  by. 

There,  in  the  golden  twilight, 

Often  the  lovers  met. 
Plighted  their  vows  together. 

How  can  she  e'er  forget  ? 
Though  now  dread  war  has  severed 

Lover  and  maid  afar  ; 
At  eve  their  eyes  together. 

Follow  one  beaming  star  ! 

And  while  her  heart  was  throbbing- 
Throbbing  with  grief  and  fear  ; 

Up  to  the  God  of  battles, 

Wildly  she  breathed  a  prayer ; 


356  VIDI   AMI   PLORARE. 

*'  Save  him.  Almighty  Father ! 

Let  him  be  watched  by  Thee ; 
Save  him  unto  his  country  — 

Save  him  for  home  and  me !  " 

Softly,  a  step  came  near  her  — 

G-ently  his  shadow  fell ; 
He  clasj)ed  her  —  murmured  "  darling !  " 

Easy  the  rest  to  tell. 
There,  in  the  mellow  twilight  — 

Joy  in  each  beaming  eye  — 
Listening  to  memories  holy, 

How  swiftly  the  moments  fly  ! 


^ibt  i^mi  ^l0ran. 


BY   LIEUTENANT   J.    E.    DOOLES. 


Methinks  1  see  him  even  now, — 
His  smiling  lips  and  soft  blue  eyes ; 

His  blooming  cheeks  with  blushes  glow, 
That  from  his  heart  incessant  rise. 

I  hear  the  soft  tones  of  his  voice  ; 

The  music  of  his  laugh  still  rings  ; 
I  see  his  dancing  orbs  rejoice, 

In  light  as  pure  as  Phoebus  brings. 

Ne'er  stoops  to  wrong  his  soul  sublime ; 

His  open  heart  is  ever  best 
With  freedom  from  the  slightest  crime  - 

The  friend  to  others  when  opprest. 


THE    HERO    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  357 

He  died  'mid  strangers  on  the  field 

Of  Gettysburg  ;  his  dying  hour 
Disturbed  by  booming  guns  that  pealed, 

To  taunt  him  with  the  victor's  power. 

No  power  so  great  as  that  of  death, 
Save  that  which  G-od  Himself  engrafts 

In  earth-born  sons,  whose  final  breath, 
The  immortal  soul  to  heaven  wafts. 


^l^t^^txa  foiiljatti  vc  pame* 


BY   COL.    W.    S.    HAWKINS. 


I  LOVED  when  a  child  to  seek  the  page 

"Where  goodly  tales  of  War  are  told, 
And  to  dream  of  the  might  of  a  better  age, 

And  the  swarthy  King  of  old, 
When  men  for  virtue  and  honor  fought, 

In  serried  pride,  'neath  their  pennants  bright, 
By  the  fairy  hands  of  Beauty  wrought. 

And  broidered  with  "  God  and  Eight." 

With  boyish  wonder  my  eyes  were  wide 

At  the  deeds  that  day  in  the  mountain  pass, 
When  the  Spartan  felled  his  foeman's  pride 

As  the  reaper  mows  the  grass. 
And  in  thought  I  beheld  gay  Sidney  ride. 

His  white  plume  dotting  the  field's  expanse, 
While  Bayard  bore  down  like  the  swirl  of  the  tide 

And  struck  for  the  Lilies  of  France. 


358  THE    HERO    WITHOUT   A    NAME. 

On  the  crags  of  Scotland  there  I  saw, 

With  his  hair  of  golden  hue,  Montrose, 
And  swarthy  Douglas,  whose  name  was  awe. 

In  the  homes  of  his  English  foes. 
There  was  TVinkelkeid,  first  in  the  martyr  fray. 

And  JRupert,  the  pride  of  his  cavaliers. 
And  Emraett,  the  Brave,  whose  tomb  to-day 

Is  the  shrine  of  the  patriot's  tears. 

These  splendid  forms  were  a  part  of  the  throng 

That  delighted  me,  moving  in  pageantry  grand 
Through  the  fields  of  Time  and  the  groves  of  Song, 

From  the  legends  of  every  land  ; 
But  I  little  hoped  myself  to  see 

A  spirit  akin  to  those  stately  men, 
IN'or  thought  that  great  hearts  like  theirs  could  be 

In  a  Prison's  crowded  pen. 

Yet,  1  saw  to-day  in  the  Hospital  here 

A  Hero,  I  fancy,  as  peerless  and  grand  — 
A  pale-faced  boy  whose  home  is  where 

Grlimmer  the  ripple  of  Cumberland; 
On  his  narrow  cot,  in  a  narrow  room. 

Where  he  hears  but  the  sigh  and  the  prisoner's  groan. 
He  lies  through  the  long  day's  pain  and  gloom ; 

Yet  he  never  makes  a  moan. 

They  hewed  him  down  'neath  the  blades  of  steel 

As  the  troopers  charged  in  from  the  camps  of  the  foe, 
But  he  was  not  killed,  although  I  feel 

It  would  have  been  better  so  ; 
For  my  heart  within  me  is  heavy  and  sad 

As  I  sit  and  hold  his  wasted  hand. 
And  hear  him  tell  how  the  days  were  glad 

In  our  dear  and  distant  land. 

There  are  hours  again  in  his  fever's  heat 


THE    HERO    WITHOUT    A    NAME.  359 

When  his  restless  fancy  flies  to  his  home, 
And  he  talks  of  the  scythe  in  the  falling  wheat, 

And  of  reapers  that  go  and  come, 
Of  his  boyish  mates  and  their  frolicsome  glee 

Through  the  cedar  glades  and  the  woodland's  dim, 
And  how  he  carved  there  on  many  a  tree 

A  name  that  was  dear  to  him. 

He  talks  of  the  roses,  that  scatter  the  lights 

Through  his  cottage  door  and  the  window  panes, 
While  the  Autumn's  haze  is  upon  the  heights 

And  the  quiet  country  lanes  ; 
Of  the  rivulet's  splash,  and  the  song  of  birds. 

And  the  corn-rows  standing  like  men  with  spears, 
Of  his  mother's  prayers,  and  her  loving  words. 

Till  his  cheeks  are  wet  with  tears. 

And  I  seem  to  see  her  as  the  yellow  leaves 

Are  silently  falling  in  the  glen. 
While  the  swallows  come  back  to  the  sheltering  eaves 

Where  he  shall  not  come  again ; 
Then  I  rejoice  that  she  cannot  see 

How  the  blight  has  stained  her  boy  in  his  bloom 
I  am  glad  that  her  steps  will  never  be 

Eeside  his  humble  tomb. 

And  I  think  of  another,  who  watches,  too. 

When  the  early  stars  grow  bright  o'er  the  hill, 
Nor  knows  that  his  heart,  so  confiding,  so  true, 

Will  soon  be  for  ever  still. 
Ah !  many  in  vain  to  their  hopes  will  cling 

Through  the  dreary  morn  and  the  mournful  eve 
But  Memory  alone  shall  her  solace  bring 

To  a  thousand  hearts  that  grieve. 

My  comrade  will  last  but  a  little  while. 
For  I  see  on  every  succeeding  day 


360  TO   MISS   c.  p.  B. 

A  fainter  flush  but  a  sweeter  smile 

Over  his  features  play  ; 
And  somehow  I  think,  when  our  lives  are  done, 

That  this  humble  hero  without  a  name, 
"Will  be  greater  up  there  than  many  a  one 

Of  the  high  born  men  of  fame. 

O,  prisoner  boy,  that  I  were  as  near 

As  you  are  now  to  that  shining  shore, 
Where  the  waters  of  life  and  of  love  are  clear, 

And  weeping  shall  be  no  more. 
It  cannot  be  thus ;  yet  in  God's  own  time 

He  will  call  his  weary  ones  home  to  their  rest, 
And  the  beautiful  angels,  with  song  and  with  chimo, 

Shall  welcome  each  mortal  guest. 


®0  gliss  C.  f. 


OF   ATHENS,    TENNESSEE. 


BY    COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


Musing  lonely,  sadly  musing. 
In  my  Island  prison  drear. 

Sweetly  came  thy  words  of  comfort, 
Bravely  spoken  words  of  cheer. 

Came  as  come  the  beams  of  morning, 
Over  Erie's  ice-bound  rest  ; 

Rousing  hope,  and  faith  and  patience  - 
New-born  in  the  captive's  breast. 


TOO    YOUNG   TO    DIE.  361 

Eve,  whose  cheek  of  virgin  beauty 

Lent  its  tintings  to  the  rose, 
In  the  cup  of  man's  transgression, 

Added  solace  for  his  woes. 

Purest,  gentlest  of  her  daughters, 

Boldly  standing  for  the  right ; 
Athens  boasts  no  richer  jewel, 

Love  may  claim  no  crown  more  bright. 

Length  of  days,  with  bliss  o'erflowing, 

Is  the  boon  I'd  ask  for  thee ; 
Everlasting  life  thy  portion  — 

Waiting  in  eternity  I 

Johnson's  Island^  July,  1865. 


C00  Soung  to  gb» 


BY    JOHN    B.    SMITH. 


Among  those  killed  in  the  disastrous  battle  before  Nashville,  in  December, 
1864,  was  a  beautiful  boy-soldief;  whose  gray  uniform,  undecorated  with 
any  token  of  rank,  marked  him  as  a  private  in  the  Confederate  army.  His 
face  was  of  wonderful  beauty,  every  feature  being  as  delicate  as  a  woman's, 
while  his  form  was  as  symmetrical  and  graceful  as  that  of  an  Apollo. 
Such  a  youthful  victim  to  the  awful  horrors  of  war,  was  a  sacrifice  calcu- 
lated to  dim  the  coldest  eye  with  tears. 

On  the  hard  fought  field,  where  the  battle  storm 

Had  echoed  its  sullen  thunder, 
Lay  a  soldier-child  with  the  golden  thread 

Of  his  young  life  snapp'd  asunder. 
16 


362  TOO   YOUNG   TO   DIE. 

He  had  comrades  stark,  in  the  great  death  sleep, 

Lying  cold  in  their  bloody  places, 
But  they  were  bearded  men,  with  stalwart  frames, 

And  a  man's  look  on  their  faces. 

But  the  soldier  child  with  his  silken  locks 
O'er  his  smooth,  white  forehead  sweeping, 

With  a  horrid  wound  in  his  brave  young  breast, 
Seem'd  too  fair  for  death's  grim  keeping. 

For  his  beardless  face,  in  its  calm  repose, 

Bore  the  mark  of  Beauty's  finger. 
And  his  fine,  sweet  mouth  seemed  the  tempting  spot 

Where  a  woman's  lips  would  linger. 

Like  slender  shadows  on  the  fleecy  snow, 
O'er  his  cheek  crept  the  fringing  lashes 

Of  the  white  closed  lips  of  his  great,  grey  eyes. 
All  veined  with  faint  azure  flashes. 

O'er  the  wounded  breast  with  a  touching  grace, 

His  delicate  hands  were  folded. 
With  a  meek,  soft  clasp,  as  if  for  a  prayer. 

Their  dying  shape  was  moulded. 

I  thought,  as  beside  this  warrior-child 

Mine  own  young  head  was  bending, 
That,  perhaps,  an  angel-mother's  prayers 

Were  heavenward  then  ascending  — 

That  the  arm  of  the  Father  who  dwelleth  where 

Sweet  peace  is  never  ending, 
Might  be  found,  in  the  battle's  dreaded  hour, 

Her  darling  boy  defending. 

I  thought  how  the  voice  of  the  false-faced  world 

Would  waft  her  the  mournful  story. 
With  its  pompous  words  for  a  healing  balm. 

And  its  mocking  meed  of  glory. 


BAY-BLOSSOM   COTTAGE.  363 

When  that  mother's  heart  with  its  hapless  grief 

Acd  its  mighty  pain  was  aching, 
The  chaplet  Fame  is  a  withered  wreath 

When  a  mother's  heart  is  breaking. 

I  turned  away  from  the  poor  dead  youth, 

On  his  gory  pillow  sleeping, 
And  a  weakness  right  from  a  sadden'd  heart, 

Sent  tears  through  my  lashes  sweeping. 


ia;g-§l0SS0nt  ^oitn^t- 


BY   LIEUT.    H.    C.    WRIGHT. 


Oh,  how  dear  to  the  heart  are  these  hours  of  bliss, 
Which  "  Bay-Blossom  "  e'er  brings  to  my  view ! 

Were  they  loaned  by  the  Houris  from  their  world  to  this, 
As  they  give  us  their  tears  in  the  dew. 

Although  time  has  rolled  by,  still  before  me  they  seem, 

For  the  grotto  of  memory  is  bright 
With  such  hours  crystalized  into  diamonds  that  gleam 

Like  stalactites  of  glistening  light ! 

Yet,  the  rarest  of  amber  and  brightest  of  pearls 
Have  been  found  'neath  the  stormiest  seas ; 

And  the  stormiest  life,  'mid  its  stormiest  whirls, 
Is  redeemed  by  such  moments  as  these ! 

Bay-Blossom  !  Bay-Blossom !  thy  mem'ries  enhance 
Every  day  to  the  man  tempest-tossed, 


364  LIVING   AND   DYING. 

Like  the  slave  of  the  mine,  who  can  catch  but  one  glance 
Of  the  sky  and  the  world  he  has  lost ! 

The  dark  veil  of  the  future  no  glimmerings  show  — 
E'en  hope's  star  is  obscured  from  the  sight ! 

Say,  oh  fate !  was  that  gleam  the  dawn's  promising  glow, 
Or  the  sunset  preceding  the  night ! 


^iiring  nxtb  5sing» 


BY    MAJ.    GEO.    MCKNIGHT. 


I  WOULD  not  die  on  the  battle-field, 

Where  the  missiles  are  flying  wild ; 
'Tis  a  fancy  death,  but  doesn't  suit 

My  mamma's  darling  child. 
The  cannon's  roar  and  the  clash  of  steel, 

And  the  victor's  joyous  shout; 
May  do  very  well  if  a  fellow  don't  care. 

But  rd  rather  be  counted  out. 

I  would  not  die  on  the  vessel's  deck, 

"Where  the  wild  waves  dash  around, 
'Cause  I  might  fall  in  and  have  to  swim, 

And  can't  —  so  I'd  surely  be  drowned ; 
And  the  idea  of  pickling  myself  in  brine. 

Is  too  salty  to  be  endured  ; 
Beside,  there's  a  dearth  of  salt  in  the  South, 

And  we've  other  pork  to  be  cured. 


MUSIC   IN   CAMP.  365 

I  would  not  die  at  home,  in  bed, 

'Twould  fill  poor  "  Klubs  "  with  sorrow ; 
For  if,  to-day,  he  should  find  me  dead, 

He  would  die,  himself,  to-morrow ; 
And  since  I've  thought  the  matter  o'er 

The  truth,  for  once,  I'm  giving  — 
If  I'm  to  have  a  say  in  the  thing, 

I  think  I'll  keep  on  living  I 


nm  in  €ump 


BY  JOHN   R.    THOMPSON. 


Two  armies  covered  hill  and  plain, 
Where  Eappahannock's  waters 

Ean,  deeply  crimsoned  with  the  stain 
Of  battle's  recent  slaughters. 

The  summer  clouds  lay  pitched  like  tents 

In  meads  of  heavenly  azure ; 
And  each  dread  gun  of  the  elements 

Slept  in  its  hid  embrasure. 

The  breeze  so  softly  blew  it  made 

No  forest  leaf  to  quiver, 
And  the  smoke  of  the  random  cannonade 

Eolled  slowly  from  the  river. 

And  now,  where  circling  hills  looked  down, 

With  cannon  grimly  planted. 
O'er  listless  camp  and  silent  town, 

The  golden  sunset  slanted. 


366  MUSIC   IN    CAMP. 

When  on  the  fervid  air  there  came 
A  strain,  now  rich,  now  tender ; 

The  music  seemed  itself  aflame 
With  day's  departing  splendor. 

A  Federal  band,  which  eve  and  morn 
Played  measures  brave  and  nimble, 

Had  just  struck  up  with  flute  and  horn 
And  lively  clash  of  cymbal. 

Down  flowed  the  soldiers  to  the  banks, 

Till  margined  by  its  pebbles, 
One  wooded  shore  was  blue  with  "  Yanks," 

And  one  was  gray  with  "Rebels." 

Then  all  was  still,  and  then  the  band, 
With  movements  light  and  tricksy, 

Made  stream  and  forest,  hill  and  strand, 
Eeverberate  with  "  Dixie." 

The  conscious  stream,  with  burnished  glow, 
Went  proudly  o'er  its  pebbles, 

But  thrilled  throughout  its  deepest  flow 
With  yelling  of  the  Eebels. 

Again  a  pause,  and  then  again 
The  trumpets  pealed  sonorous. 

And  Yankee  Doodle  was  the  strain 
To  which  the  shore  gave  chorus. 

The  laughing  ripple  shoreward  flew 

To  kiss  the  shining  pebbles; 
Loud  shrieke'd  the  swarming  Boys  in  Blue 

Defiance  to  the  Eebels. 

And  yet  once  more  the  bugles  sang 

Above  the  stormy  riot ; 
No  shout  upon  the  evening  rang  — 

There  reigned  a  holy  quiet. 


MUSIC  IN   CAMP.  367 

The  sad,  low  stream  its  noiseless  tread 

Poured  o'er  the  glistening  pebbles  j 
And  silent  now  the  Yankees  stood, 

And  silent  stood  the  Eebels. 

No  unresponsive  soul  had  heard 

That  plaintive  note's  appealing, 
So  deeply  "  Home,  Sweet  Home,"  had  stirred 

The  hidden  founts  of  feeling. 

Or  blue  or  gray,  the  soldier  sees, 

As  by  the  wand  of  fairy, 
The  cottage  'neath  the  live  oak  trees, 

The  cabin  by  the  prairie. 

Or  cold  or  warm,  his  native  skies 

Bend  in  their  beauty  o'er  him ; 
Seen  through  the  tear-mist  in  his  eyes, 

His  loved  ones  stand  before  him. 

As  fades  the  iris  after  rain 

In  April's  tearful  weather, 
The  vision  vanished  as  the  strain 

And  daylight  died  together. 

But  memory,  waked  by  music's  art, 

Expressed  in  simj)lest  numbers, 
Subdued  the  sternest  Yankee's  heart. 

Made  light  the  Eebel's  slumbers. 

And  fair  the  form  of  Music  shines. 

That  bright  celestial  creature, 
Who  still  'mid  war's  embattled  lines 

Gave  this  one  touch  of  Nature. 


368  THE   CLIFF   BESIDE   THE    SEA. 


Cljt  Cliff  btsxb^  ih  Bm. 


BY    COL.    W.    W.    FONTAINE. 


Five  summers  bright  have  come  and  gono 

A  weary  time  to  me, 
Since  last  I  strolled  upon  thy  brow, 

Sweet  cliff  beside  the  sea. 
A  maiden  rare,  with  soft  brown  hair, 

And  lips  of  richest  red, 
Surveyed  with  glow  upon  her  face 

The  scene  before  us  spread. 

The  sea,  suffused  with  rosy  light, 

Was  smooth  as  polished  glass, 
Save  here  and  there,  where  some  light  breeze 

Would  skimming  gently  pass  ; 
The  head  lands  white,  the  purple  isles. 

The  gorgeous  clouds  so  grand, 
Were  lovely,  as  when  first  they  smiled, 

Beneath  Jehovah's  hand. 

And  she,  my  own,  my  radiant  Eve, 

Was  all  the  world  to  me  ; 
And  on  thy  brow  we  plighted  vows, 

Sweet  cliff  beside  the  sea. 
Alas  —  her  vows  were  only  vows ; 

Her  love  she  soon  forgot  — 
And  I  then  hastened  far  away. 

From  the  love-hallowed  spot. 

A  traveller,  tossed  by  many  a  wave, 

I  now  return  to-night, 
To  dream  again  that  blissful  dream, 

That  made  thy  brow  so  bright. 
The  river  of  my  thought  now  runs 


STONEWALL   JACKSON'S   WAY.  369 

Into  the  sea  of  youth, 
And  my  light  barque  is  guided  on 
By  innocence  and  truth. 

The  Isle  of  First  Love  heaves  in  sight ; 

I  land  with  footstep  sure, 
And  wander  through  its  moonlit  groves, 

With  a  tender  maiden  pure. 
Enchanted  fountains  murmur  sweet ; 

Eich  roses  load  the  air ; 
The  nightingale  is  on  each  spray, 

And  soft  lutes  low  burthens  bear. 

I  gently  press  a  snowy  hand, 

That  rests  upon  my  arm ; 
And  gaze  into  those  liquid  eyes. 

That  thrill  me  like  a  charm ; 
But  soon,  alas,  the  vision  flies. 

And  I  am  left  with  thee, 
Far  from  the  maid  with  whom  I  roved, 

On  the  cliff  beside  the  sea. 


Stomtoall  |a;chs0n's  Mag-* 

Come,  men,  stack  arms!  pile  on  the  rails 

Stir  up  the  camp-fire  bright  ; 
No  matter  if  the  canteen  fails. 
We'll  make  a  roaring  night. 
Here  Shenandoah  crawls  along, 
Here  burly  Blue  Ridge  echoes  strong. 
To  swell  the  brigade's  rousing  song 
Of  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way  I  " 
16* 


370  STONEWALL   JACKSON'S    WAY. 

We  see  him  now  —  the  old  slouch'd  hat 

Cock'd  o'er  his  eye  askew ; 
The  shrewd  dry  smile  —  the  speech  so  pat, 

So  calm,  so  blunt,  so  true. 
The  "  Blue-light  Elder  "  knows  'em  well ; 
Says  he.     "  That's  Banks  :  he's  fond  of  shell. 
Lord  save  his  soul!  we'll  give  him "  well. 

That's  '•  Stonewall  Jackson's  way  !  " 

Silence!  ground  arms!  kneel  all!  caps  off! 

Old  "  Blue  Light's  "  going  to  pray ; 
Strans:le  the  fool  that  dares  to  scoff! 

Attention  !  it's  his  way  I 
Appealing  from  his  native  sod, 
"  Hear  us  Almighty  God  ! 
Lay  bare  thine  arm,  stretch  forth  thy  rod, 

Amen !  "     That's  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way 

He's  in  the  saddle  now !     Fall  in  ! 

Steady  !     The  whole  brigade  ! 
Hill's  at  the  ford,  cut  off ;  we'll  win 

His  way  out  ball  and  blade. 
What  matter  if  our  shoes  are  worn  ? 
What  matter  if  our  feet  are  torn  ? 
Quick  step  !  we're  with  him  before  dawn  1 

That's  "  Stonewall  Jackson's  way  !  " 

The  sun's  bright  lances  rout  the  mists 

Of  morning  —  and  by  George  !  * 

Here's  Longstreet  struggling  in  the  lists, 
Hemm'd  in  an  ugly  gorge. 

Pope  and  his  Yankees,  whipp'd  before  ; 

"Bayonets  and  grape!  "  hear  Stonewall  roar, 

"Charge,  Stuart!  pay  oft'  Ashby's  score 
In  Stonewall  Jackson's  way !  " 

Ah !  maiden,  wait,  and  watch,  and  yearn, 
For  news  of  Stonewall's  band  ! 


A   POEM   BY    "  STONEWALL   JACKSON."  371 

Ah  !  widow,  read  with  eyes  that  burn  — 

That  ring  upon  thy  hand ! 
Ah  !  wife,  sew  on,  pray  on,  hope  on  ! 
Thy  life  shall  not  be  all  forlorn  : 
The  foe  had  better  not  been  born 

That  gets  in  Stonewall's  way. 


%  %imm  hvi  ''  Stanefoall "  Muck^QXt. 


<^       Cfc;^^**^       ^^  a«^*W*tVWi^VV  (V' 


The  following  beautiful  verses  were  written  by  the  celebrated  "Stone- 
wall" Jackson.  They  breathe  the  very  essence  of  poetry.  No  person  of 
taste  can  read  them  without  being  moved  by  the  genuine  filial  affection,  so 
tenderly  expressed  by  the  highly  gifted  author,  while  the  heart  is  touched 
with  sympathy  by  the  mournful  strain.  The  smooth  diction,  and  the 
charming  melody  of  the  stanzas,  fall  like  melting  music  on  the  ear  while 
the  imagination  is  stirred  by  the  striking  and  impressive  imagery  of  the 
poem,  the  commencement  of  which  is  so  weird-like,  that  it  fills  the  mind 
with  awe  and  admiration.  How  truthful  and  striking  are  the  two  last 
lines  of  the  fourth  stanza.  Mark  how  tenderly  the  poet  refers  to  his  be- 
reaved mother : 

"  Torn  like  the  vine  whose  tendrils  curl'd 
More  closely  rourid  the  fdlling  tree." 

There  is  not  in  the  whole  range  of  poetical  literature  a  more  beautiful 
couplet  than  this. 


TO  MY  DEPARTED  FATHER. 


As  die  the  embers  on  the  hearth, 
And  o'er  the  floor  the  shadows  fall, 

And  creeps  the  chirping  cricket  forth. 
And  ticks  the  death-watch  on  the  wall, 

I  see  a  form  on  yonder  chair, 


372  A   POEM    BY    "  STONEWALL    JACKSON." 

That  grows  beneath  the  waning  light, 
There  are  the  wan,  sad  features  —  there 
The  pallid  brow  and  locks  of  white. 

My  father !  when  they  laid  thee  down, 
And  heaped  the  clay  upon  thy  breast, 

And  left  thee  sleejoing  all  alone. 
Upon  thy  narrow  couch  at  rest ; 

I  know  not  why  I  could  not  weep  — 
The  soothing  drops  refused  to  roll  — 

And  oh !  that  grief  is  wild  and  deep, 
^  Which  settles  tearless  on  the  soul. 

But  when  I  saw  thy  vacant  chair, 

Thine  idle  hat  upon  the  wall  — 
The  book,  the  pencill'd  passage  — where 

Thine  eye  had  rested  last  of  all ; 
The  tree  beneath  whose  friendly  shade 

Thy  trembling  feet  had  wandered  forth 
The  very  prints  those  feet  had  made 

When  last  they  feebly  trod  the  earth. 

I  thought  while  countless  ages  fled, 

Thy  vacant  chair  would  vacant  stand, 
Unworn  thy  hat,  thy  book  unread. 

Effaced  thy  footsteps  from  the  strand ; 
And  widow'd  in  this  cheerless  world 

The  heart  that  gave  its  love  to  thee. 
Torn  like  the  vine  whose  tendrils  curled 

More  closely  to  the  falling  tree. 

Oh,  father !  then  for  her  and  thee 

Gush'd  madly  forth  the  scalding  tears. 
And  oft,  and  long,  and  bitterly. 

These  tears  have  gush'd  in  later  years. 
For  as  the  world  grows  cold  around, 

And  things  assume  their  real  hue, 
'Tis  sad  to  find  that  love  is  found 

Alone  above  the  stars  with  you. 


TO  MISS  K.  U.  S.,  OP  ALEXANDRIA,  VA.  373 

Co  gliss  i.  m.  S.,  flf  §,Itfanbria,  m. 


BY   COL.    B.    H.   JONES. 


Maiden,  through  death's  gloomy  portal, 

In  the  far  cerulean  blue, 
Stands  the  "  Great  White  Throne  "  eternal. 

Stands  the  City  of  the  True. 
Kind  and  gentle  Southern  maiden. 

As  you  move  your  daily  round. 
Think  you  of  the  fields  Elysian, 

Endless  in  their  bliss  profound  ? 
Underneath  the  sweetest  pleasures 

Hung  m  festoons  'round  your  way 
Lo  !  these  words  of  doom  are  written  : 

"  Earth  and  Earth's  must  soon  decay." 
Eaise  your  eyes,  O  gentle  maiden! 

Seek  the  gem  that  Mary  wore ; 
Make  for  the  Eternal  City, 

Over  on  the  further  shore; 
Once  secured  the  peace  of  Jesus, 

Thine  is  life  forevermore ! 


BY  MRS.  M.  J.  PRESTON,  OF  VIRGINIA. 

A  SIMPLE,  sodded  mound  of  earth. 

Without  a  line  above  it; 
With  only  daily  votive  flowers. 

To  tell  that  any  love  it ; 


374  STONEWALL   JACKSON'S    GRAVE. 

The  token  flag  that  silently 
Each  breeze's  visit  numbers, 

Alone  keeps  martial  ward  above, 
The  hero's  dreamless  slumbers. 

'No  name?    No  record?    Ask  the  world- 

The  world  has  read  his  story  — 
If  all  its  annals  can  unfold 

A  prouder  tale  of  glory  ? 
If  ever  merely  human  life 

Had  taught  diviner  moral  — 
If  ever  round  a  worthier  brow 

Was  twined  a  purer  laurel  ? 

Humanity's  responsive  heart 

Concedes  his  wond'rous  powers, 
And  pulses  with  a  tenderness 

Almost  akin  to  ours ; 
Nay,  not  to  ours !  —  for  us  he  poured 

His  life,  a  rich  libation. 
And  on  adoring  souls  we  wear 

This  blood  of  consecration. 

A  twelve-month  only,  since  his  sword 

Went  flashing  through  the  battle  — 
A  twelve-month  only  since  his  ear 

Heard  war's  last  deadly  rattle  ; 
And  yet  have  countless  pilgrim  feet, 

The  pilgrim's  guerdon  paid  him, 
And  weeping  women  came  to  see 

The  "place  where  they  had  laid  him.'* 

Contending  armies*  bring  in  turn 
Their  meed  of  praise  and  honor, 
And  Pallas  here  has  paused  to  bind 


*In  the  month  of  June,  the  singular  spectacle  was  presented  at  Lexing- 
ton, Va,,  of  two  hostile  armies,  in  turn,  reverently  visiting  Jackson's 
grave. 


STONEWALL   JACKSON'S    GRAVE.  375 

The  cypress  wreath  upon  her ; 
It  seems  a  Holy  Sepulchre, 

"Whose  sanctities  can  waken, 
Alike  the  love  of  friend  or  foe, 

Of  Christian  or  of  Pagan. 

They  come  to  own  his  high  emprise. 

Who  fled  in  frantic  masses. 
Before  the  glittering  bayonet 

That  triumphed  at  Manassas  ] 
Who  witnessed  Kearnstown's  fearful  odds; 

As  on  their  ranks  he  thundered  : 
Defiant  as  the  storied  Greek, 

Amid  his  brave  Three  Hundred* 

They  will  recall  the  tiger  spring, 

The  wise  retreat,  the  rally. 
The  tireless  march,  the  fierce  pursuit. 

Through  many  a  mountain  valley  ; 
Cross  Keys  unlock  new  paths  to  fame, 

And  Port  Eepublic's  story 
Wrests  from  his  ever-vanquished  foes, 

Strange  tributes  to  his  glory. 

Cold  Harbor  rises  to  their  view, 

The  cedar's  gloom  is  o'er  them. 
And  Antietam's  rouo-h  wooded  heights 

CD  O 

Stretch  mockingly  before  them  ; 
The  lurid  flames  of  Fredericksburg, 

Right  grimly  they  remember. 
That  lit  the  frozen  night's  retreat. 

That  wintry  wild  December. 

The  largess  of  their  praise  is  flung 

With  bounty  rare  and  regal; 
Is  it  because  the  vulture  fears 

No  longer  the  dead  eagle  ? 


376  STONEWALL   JACKSON's    GRAVE. 

'Nay,  rather  far  accept  it  thus  : 

An  homasce  true  and  tender 
A  soldier  unto  soldier's  worth  — 

As  brave  to  brave  will  render. 

But  who  shall  weigh  the  wordless  grief 

That  leaves  in  tears  its  traces, 
As  round  their  leader  crowd  again, 

The  bronzed  and  veteran  faces; 
The  "Old  Brigade  "  he  loved  so  well  — 

The  mountain  men  who  bound  him 
With  bays  of  their  own  winning,  ere 

A  tardier  fame  had  crowned  him. 

The  legions  who  had  seen  his  glance 

Across  the  carnage  flashing, 
And  thrilled  to  catch  his  ringing  "  Charge !  " 

Above  the  volley  crashing  — 
"Who  oft  had  watched  the  lifted  hand, 

The  inward  trust  betraying, 
And  felt  their  courage  grow  sublime 

While  they  beheld  him  praying ! 

Good  Knights  and  true  as  ever  drew 

Their  swords  with  knightly  Eoland, 
Or  died  at  Sobieski's  side. 

For  love  of  martyred  Poland  ; 
Or  knelt  with  Cromwell's  Ironsides, 

Or  sang  with  brave  Gustavus  ; 
Or  on  the  plain  of  Austerlitz, 

Breathed  out  their  dying  Aves  ? 

Eare  fame  !  rare  name  !  If  chanted  praise 
With  all  the  world  to  listen  — 

If  pride  that  swells  a  nation's  soul  — 
If  foemen's  tears  that  glisten  — 

If  pilgrim's  shining  love  — if  grief 


THE   SUBSTITUTE.  377 

Which  nought  may  soothe  or  sever  — 
If  these  can  consecrate, —  this  spot 
Is  sacred  ground  forever  I 


Lexington,  Va.,  June,  1864. 


C|^^  S^nhBixhU. 


BY  PAUL   H.  HAYNE. 


[The  infamous  barbarity  of  McNiel  at  Palmyra,  Missouri,  in  shooting 
ten  of  the  Confederates  on  a  charge  (afterwards  disproved,  or  certainly 
never  established,)  that  one  Andrew  Alsman  had  been  killed  by  other 
Confederates, —  supplied  the  incident  upon  which  this  dramatic  sketch  is 
founded.  One  of  the  victims,  a  mere  stripling,  voluntarily  sacrificed  his 
own  life  to  rescue  his  friend,  a  man  advanced  in  years  and  with  a  large 
family  dependent  upon  him.  The  incident  would  furnish  proof  enough, 
if  proof  were  needed,  that  the  sublime  heroic  virtue  of  the  Syracusan  period 
has  not  entirely  died  out  with  Damon  and  Pythias.  In  the  poem,  the 
aged  man  is  represented  as  unaware  of  the  youth's  resolve  until  after  its 
(and  his)  execution,  though,  in  that  particular,  the  facts  were  at  variance 
with  the  position  here  assumed.  Some  twenty-four  hours  are  supposed  to 
elapse  between  the  action  of  the  first  and  second  parts.] 

PART  1st. 

Place  :    A  Federal  Prison.    A  Confederate,  chained,  and  a  visitor,  his  friend. 

J- 

"  How  say'st  thou  ?  die  to-morrow  ?     Oh  my  Friend  I 

The  bitter,  bitter  doom  ! 
What  hast  thou  done  to  tempt  this  ghastly  end, 

This  death  of  shame  and  gloom  ? '' 


378  THE    SUBSTITUTE. 

II. 

"  "What  done  ?     Do  tyrants  wait  for  guilty  deeds, 

To  find,  or  prove  a  crime  ? 
They  who  have  cherished  Hatred's  fiery  seeds, 

Hot  for  the  harvest  time  ? 

III. 

^'  A  sneer  !  a  smile  !  vague  trifles  light  as  air  — 

Some  foolish,  false  surmise, — 
Lead  to  the  harrowing  Drama  of  Despair, 

Wherein  the  victim  dies  ! 

"And  I  shall  perish  !     Comrade,  heed  me  not ! 

For  thus  my  tears  must  start  — 
'Not  for  the  misery  of  my  blasted  lot. 

But  hers  who  holds  my  heart ! 

V. 

"  And  theirs,  the  flowers  that  wreath  my  humble  hearth 

With  roseate  blush  and  bloom, — 
To-morrow  eve  they  stand  alone  on  earth, 

Beside  their  Father's  tomb  ! 

VI. 

"  There's  Blanche,  my  serious  beauty,  lithe  and  tall, 

With  pensive  eyes  and  brow, — 
There's  Kate,  the  tenderest  darling  of  them  all, 

Whose  kisses  thrill  me  now  ! 

vn. 

"  And  little  Eose,  the  sunshine  of  my  days, 
A  tricksy,  gladsome  spright, — 


THE   SUBSTITUTE.  379 

How  vividly  come  back  her  winsome  ways, 
Her  laughters  and  delight ! 

VIII. 

"  And  my  brave  boy,  my  Arthur !     Did  his  arm 

Second  his  will  and  brain, 
I  should  not  groan  beneath  this  iron  charm. 

Clashing  my  chains  in  vain ! 


IX. 


"  Alas  I  and  hath  it  come  to  this  ?     Will  none 
Ward  off  the  '  ghastly  end  ?  ' 

And  yet,  methinks  I  heard  the  voice  of  one 
Who  called  the  old  man  —  '  Friend.' 


X. 


"  May  all  the  curses  caught  from  deepest  Hell, 
Light  on  the  blood-stained  knave, 

Who  laughs  to  hear  the  Patriot's  funeral  knell. 
Blaspheming  o'er  his  grave  ! 


XI. 


"  Away  !   Such  dreams  are  madness  !     My  pale  lips 

Had  best  beseech  Heaven's  ear  ; 
But  in  the  turmoil  of  my  mind's  eclipse, 

!N"o  thought,  no  wish  is  clear  ! 

XII. 

"  Dear  Friend,  forgive  me  !     Sorrow,  frenzy,  ire  — 

My  bosom's  raging  guests  — 
By  turn  have  whelmed  me  in  their  floods  of  fire  — 

Fierce  passions,  swift  unrests  I 


380  THE    SUBSTITUTE. 

XIII. 


"  And  now,  farewell !     The  sentry's  warning  hand, 

Taps  at  my  prison  bars. 
We  part,  but  not  forever  !     There's  a  land 

Comrade,  beyond  the  stars." 


XIV. 

"  Tea,"  said  the  youth  ;  and  o'er  his  kindling  face 

A  saint-like  glory  came, 
As  if  some  prescient  angel,  breathing  grace. 

Had  touched  it  into  flame ! 

PART  2nd. 

PiiACE:    The  smne  jyrison.    Persons:    The  Confederate  prisoner^  iogeth^  with 
McNeil  and  thejaUor. 

I. 

The  hours  sink  slow  to  sunset.     Suddenly 

Rose  a  deep  gathering  hum, 
And  o'er  the  measured  stride  of  soldiery 

Boiled  out  the  muffled  drum  ! 


n. 

The  prisoner  started,  crushed  a  stifling  sigh, 
Then  rose  erect  and  proud  !  — 

Scorn's  lightning  quivering  in  his  stormy  eye, 
'Neath  the  brow's  thunder-cloud  ! 

m. 

And  girding  round  his  limbs  and  stalwart  breast 

Each  iron  chain  and  ring, 
He  stood  sublime,  imperial,  self-j)Ossessed, 

And  haughty  as  a  king  ! 


THE    SUBSTITUTE.  381 

IV. 


The  "  dead  inarch  "  wails  without  the  prison  gate, 

Up  the  calm  evening  sky  ; 
And  ruflaan  jestings,  born  of  ruffian  hate. 

Make  loud,  unmeek  reply. 


V. 


The  "  dead  march  "  wails  without  the  prison  wall. 

Up  the  calm  evening  sky  ; 
And  timed  to  the  dread  dirge's  rise  and  fall. 

Move  the  fierce  soldiery  ! 


VI. 


They  passed !  and  wondering  at  his  doom  deferred, 

The  captive's  lofty  fire 
Sunk  in  his  breast,  by  torturing  memories  stirred, 

Of  husband  and  of  sire. 


VII. 


But  hark !  the  clash  of  bolt  and  opening  door 

The  tramp  of  hostile  heel ! 
When  lo  \  upon  the  darkening  prison  floor. 

Glared  the  false  hound  —  McNeil  I 


VIII. 


And  next  him,  like  a  base-dog  scenting  blood, 
Eoused  from  his  drunken  ease — 

The  grimy,  low-browed  Jailor  glowering  stood. 
Clanking  his  iron  keys ! 


IX. 


"  Quick  !  sirrah !  strike  yon  Rebel's  fetters  off, 
And  let  the  old  fool  see 


382  THE   SUBSTITUTE. 

What  ransom,"  (with  a  low  and  bitter  scoff,) 
"  What  ransom  sets  him  free  I 

X. 

"  A  glorious  business !  by  the  Fiend,  I  think, 

Bold is  put  to  shame  ! 

I  mark  his  lurid  honors  pale  and  sink 

Before  my  crimson  fame  I  " 

XI. 

As  the  night  Traveller  in  a  land  of  foes, 

The  warning  instinct  feels. 
That  through  the  treacherous  dimness  and  repose, 

A  shrouded  horror  steals  ! 

XII. 

So,  at  these  veiled  words,  the  Captive's  soul 

Shook  with  a  solemn  dread  ; 
And  ghostly  voices  prophesying  dole, 

Moaned  faintly  overhead ! 

XIII. 

His  limbs  are  freed  !  his  swarthy,  scowling  guide 

Leads  thro'  the  silent  town, 
Where  from  dim  casements — black  with  hate  and  pride, 

Stern,  eyes  gleam  darkly  down. 

XIY. 

They  halted  where  a  dense  wood  showered  around, 

Dark  leaflets  on  the  sod, 
And  the  live  air  seemed  vocal  with  the  sound. 

Of  wild  appeals  to  God ! 

XV. 

Heaped  as  if  common  carrion  in  the  gloom, 
Nine  mangled  corpses  lay, 


THE   WOMEN    OF    THE    SOUTH.  383 

All  speechless  now  !  but  with  what  tongues  of  doom, 
Eescrved  for  Judgment  Day ! 

XVI. 

And  near  them,  but  apart,  one  youthful  form. 

Pressed  a  fair,  upland  slope, 
O'er  whose  white  brow  a  sunbeam,  flickering  warm, 

Played  like  a  heavenly  hope ! 

XVII. 

There,  with  the  same  grand  look  which  yesternight, 

That  face  at  parting  wore, 
The  self-made  Martyr  in  the  sunset  light. 

Slept  on  his  couch  of  gore ! 

XVIII. 

The  sunset  waned !     The  wakening  forests  waved. 

Struck  by  the  North  wind's  moan. 
While  He,  whose  Life  this  matchless  death  had  saved. 

Knelt  by  the  corpse-alone  ! 


^t  momm  of  tjjs  Smitlj. 


BY    COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


On  what  page  of  history  will  be  recovered  more  of  the 
patriotism,  courage,  fortitude,  patience,  self-denial  and  love 
of  woman,  than  that  which  recites  the  stirring  events  of 
our  recent  struggle  for  a  separate  nationality? 

"  Ah.  there  were  hurried  partlnprs  and  choking  sohs, 
And  tears  that  crush  the  light  from  out  the  eyes  of  beauty. 
The  mother  clasped  her  boj  ;  the  wife,  in  speechless  agony 


384  THE   WOMEN   OF    THE    SOUTH. 

Too  great  for  tears,  hung  on  her  husband's  bosom. 

The  feir  joung  girl  —  with  lately  damask  cheek  and  kindling  eye, 

Stood  pale  and  trembling.     But  did  they  falter? 

These  women  frail,  or  bid  the  loved  ones  stay, 

Nor  to  the  battle  go  ?     Ah  !  no  ;  with  whispered  prayers 

And  invocations,  such  as  only  woman  breathes, 

They  said  farewell,  and  felt  'twere  better  thus  than  bow  the  neck, 

While  Northern  despots  shaped  the  yoke  and  shook  the  chains 

Which  clanked  of  ignominy.    Oppression  —  fear,  did  only 

Make  them  strong  ;  and  like  the  noble  women  of  a  Spartan  line, 

They  gave  up  these,  their  jewels,  and  deemed 

The  sacrifice  not  great,  if  Freedom's  goal  might  but  be  won." 

Let  England  boast  her  "  Florence  Mghtingale,"  or  Spain 
her  "  Maid  of  Zaragossa  "  ;  we  had  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  women  all  over  the  South,  from  the  East  Atlantic  to 
the  banks  of  the  Eio  Grande,  who  for  four  long  years,  con- 
stantly illustrated  all  the  virtues  of  those  illustrious  ex- 
amples. 

Timid  by  nature,  and  reared  in  the  lap  of  indulgence 
and  luxury,  their  unflinching  courage  and  complete  self- 
abnegation,  not  only  nerved  our  arms  and  fired  our  hearts, 
but  successfully  challenged  the  sympathy  and  admiration 
of  the  entire  unprejudiced  world.  They  cheerfully  yielded 
their  husbands  and  fathers,  their  sons  and  brothers,  and 
lovers  —  not  without  tears,  it  is  true,  but  certainly  without 
murmurs  —  for  the  success  of  a  cause  interwoven  with 
every  fibre  of  their  tender  and  faithful  hearts. 

They  denied  themselves  all  the  comforts  and  convenien- 
ces of  their  homes  for  the  amelioration  of  our  condition ; 
and  with  an  energy  that  never  tired,  and  a  faith  that  never 
doubted,  they  toiled  and  prayed,  and  hoped  for  the  grand 
consummation  of  victory.  In  the  wild  bivouac,  on  the 
wearisome  tramp,  amid  the  roar  of  battle,  in  the  crowded 
and  gloomy  precincts  of  the  hospital  —  everywhere,  at  all 
times  and  under  all  circumstances,  they  were  the  Angel 
Ministers  of  Hope,  and  Faith,  and  Charity,  and  Good- 
ness !  And  while  their  words  and  smiles  stimulated  the 
faithful  and  brave,  every  instinct  of  their  pure  souls  re- 
coiled from  the  baseness  and  cowardice  that  culminated  in 


THE    WOMEN    OP   THE    SOUTH.  385 

treachery  and  desertion,  and  the  sneer  of  their  contempt 
and  the  hiss  of  their  scorn,  haunted  as  a  frightful  phantom 
the  footsteps  of  the  skulking  traitor! 

To  the  very  last,  through  victory  and  defeat,  in  sunshine 
and  in  storm,  they  were  as  true  to  the  cause  as  the  needle 
to  the  pole;  and  when  came  our  ruin,  final  and  irretriev- 
able, they  felt  the  misfortune  most  keenly  of  all,  and  theirs 
were  the  bitterest  tears  of  anguish  shed  upon  our  dire  dis- 
asters. 

But  their  last  act  in  the  sorrowful  drama,  was  their 
-  crowning  glory,  and  planted  the  greenest  laurels  in  the 
wreaths  of  their  immortality.  When  we  had  sorrowfully 
furled  the  "  Conquered  Banner  "  and  returned,  not  as  we  all 
had  hoped,  with  "  Yictory  and  Independence,"  inscribed 
upon  its  folds,  torn  and  rent  by  the  storm  of  battle—  but 
conquered,  disarmed,  bleeding,  maimed,  weary  and  in  rags 
—  they  met  us,  not  with  averted  faces,  or  frowns  and  re- 
proaches ;  but  amid  the  ruins  of  their  once  beautiful  and 
happy  homes,  with  poverty  and  want  all  around  them, 
they  welcomed  us  with  open  arms ;  and  with  gentle  and 
loving  words  from  aching  and  lacerated  hearts,  and  smiles 
struggling  through  tears,  they  greeted  us  as  vanquished 
heroes  who  had  deserved  success;  and  bravely  strove,  by 
the  exercise  of  all  the  beautiful  and  tender  arts  of  love  and 
sympathy,  so  well  at  their  command,  to  lighten  the  burden 
of  our  overwhelming  sorrow! 

This  is  truly  heroic,  and  when  in  an  after  age,  the  annal- 
ist and  the  traveller  gropes  his  way  over  the  scenes  where, 
the  chivalric  Southron  closed  with  the  hardy  and  invading 
Northman  in  deadly  conflict  —  when  he  clambers  over  the 
broken  battlements  of  Atlanta  and  Eichmond— when  he 
wanders  about  Chickamauga  and  Cold  Harbor  — when  he 
re-peoples  the  fastnesses  of  the  Blue  Eidge  and  the  Kene- 
saw,  and  makes  the  valleys  of  the  Eapidan  and  the  swamps 
of  the  Chickahominy  echo  again  with  the  shouts  of  victo- 
ry; when  he  repeats  the  story  of  outrages  and  wrongs 
17  ^  ^ 


386  THE    WOMEN    OF   THE    SOUTH. 

that  called  aloud  for  retribution  ;  when  he  separates  the 
verdure,  and  reads  upon  mossy  stones  the  names  of  our 
heroic  martyrs  that  lie  buried  there,  will  not  ten  thousand 
fragile  forms  rise  up  before  him,  clothed  in  a  majesty  be- 
yond the  reach  of  earth,  and  will  not  every  sighing  zephyr 
syllable  the  praises  of  the  women  of  the  South  ? 

And  now  that  the  marshalling  of  rival  hosts  and  the 
thunders  of  battle  no  longer  disturb  our  land  ;  now  that 
"swords  are  beaten  into  plough-shares,  and  spears  into 
pruning-hooks  ;  "  now  that  peace,  dove-eyed,  white-winged 
peace,  again  gladdens  our  hearts  with  her  merciful  visita- 
tion —  shall  our  women,  that  shared  in  our  joys  and  sor- 
rows, our  hopes  and  troubles,  be  less  loved  than  before? 
Or  shall  we  not  rather  seek,  as  did  the  courtly  knights  of 
ancient  chivalry,  for  fresh  opportunities  to  manifest  our 
appreciation  of  their  beautiful  and  sublimely  illustrated 
virtues  ?  Shall  we  not  give  renewed  evidence  of  continued 
and  ever-increasing  loyalty  and  devotion  to  our  fair  coun- 
trywomen ?  Shall  we  not  delight  to  yield  grateful  tribute 
to  the  exalted  merit  that  is  theirs  ?  Shall  we  not  cheer- 
fully and  gracefully  render  that  spontaneous  homage  that 
true  manhood  never  withholds  from  female  excellence  ? 

Yes,  with  flowers  will  we  crown  them  as  queens  of  our 
hearts  and  our  homes.  AYith  flowers  —  for  what  else  could 
be  more  significant  and  appropriate. 

To  secure  these  we  follow  no  bullet-rent  and  battle-torn 
banner  over  the  prostrate  and  mangled  bodies  of  our  fel- 
low men  !  They  tell  not  of  the  ensanguined  pathway  of 
the  military  chieftain !  They  do  not  remind  us  of  confla- 
grated homes,  of  outraged  virtue,  of  the  tears  of  bereaved 
widowhood,  or  the  melancholy  wail  of  hapless  orphanage  ! 
They  are  the  beautiful  creatures  of  an  Almighty  and  Be- 
neficent hand ;  the  products  of  our  gardens,  fields  and  woods 
—  emblems  true  of  purity  and  grace  —  fit  coronets  to 
adorn  the  brow  of  innocence  and  beauty,  for  they  are  as 
fresh  as  the  breeze  that  plays  upon  our  mountain  summits, 


THE    DEATH-BED    OF    STONEWALL   JACKSON.  387 

pure  as  the  dew-drop  that  glitters  in  the  first  ray  of  the 
morning  sun,  and  chaste  as  the  sigh  of  first  love  as  it  comes 
tremblingly  from  a  guileless  maiden's  heart ! 

The  women  of  the  South!  Ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand  blessings  were  daily  invoked  in  their  behalf  by 
the  gallant  men  who  fought  their  battles;  and  to-day  they 
live  in  the  affections  of  the  survivors  of  our  heroic  and 
might}^  struggle,  and  their  deeds  shall  emblazon  and  adorn 
with  more  than  heraldic  glory,  the  brightest  pages  of  can- 
did and  impartial  history ! 


e  gcat!j-§cb  of  Stamfaiill  |fitcks0it.- 


BY  COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


Stretched  on  his  couch  the  Christian  warrior  lies ; 

Cold  perspiration  bends  his  marble  brow; 
The  film  of  death  is  gathering  o'er  his  eyes ; 

The  victor  meets  another  Conqueror  now  ! 

The  fiery  Hill,  and  Ehodes  with  laurels  green  ; 

Ewell,  Manassas-maimed,  and  dashing  Hood, 
Are  there  —  there  Lee,  the  nation's  hope  serene, 

Soldier  and  patriot,  tried,  and  true  and  good. 

In  gloomy  silence  grouped  around  they  stand, 
The  victors  stern  of  many  a  hard  fought  field  : 

Down  their  bronzed  cheeks,  like  rivulets  throuirh  sand. 
The  burning  tears  show  iron  hearts  annealed. 

Well  may  they  weep  in  bitterness  of  soul. 
For  he,  the  mighty  chieftain  passing  far, 


388  THE    DYING    MOTUER. 

Hath  even  with  them  pressed  toward  victory's  goal, 
Blazing  along  the  crimson  path  of  war. 

They'll  feel  his  loss!     The  nation's  heart  shall  mourn 
As  through  the  land  the  doleful  news  is  sped  — 

As  on  the  moaning  wintry  winds  are  borne 

The  saddening  words:  "  'Stonewall'  is  with  the  dead." 

The  scene  is  closing.     Calmly  on  the  verge 

Of  Death's  dark  rolling  tide  unawed  he  stands  ; 

While  on  his  gaze,  beyond  the  flood,  emerge 
The  opening  glories  of  the  Eden  Lands. 

Wanders  his  mind  !     Soon  will  the  strife  be  o'er ! 

Listen — he  speaks  :  "  This  aching  in  my  breast ! 
Weary  with  marching,  I  am  faint  and  sore ! 

Let's  cross  the  Eiver,  to  the  shade,  and  rest!" 

He  crossed.     A  white-winged  angel,  pure  and  bright, 
Went  with  him.     High  above  the  angry  flood 

It  bore  him  to  the  2:>lains  of  Life  and  Light ; 
For,  true  to  Man,  he  was  not  false  to  God  ! 


^Jj^  §ms  Poiij^^' 


BY  COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


Where  Great  Kanawha,  "  Elver  of  the  Woods," 
Flows  tranquilly  amid  Virginia's  hills. 
Rock-ribbed,  wood-crowned,  far  reaching  toward  the  skies, 
A  dying  wife  and  mother  silent  lay. 


THE    DYING    MOTHER.  389 

Above  the  couch  of  death,  while  o'er  his  cheek, 
Unused  to  tears,  trickled  the  stream  of  sorrow, 
Her  husband  bending  stood,  her  hand  firm  clasped 
Within  his  own,  as  if  he  fain  would  pass 
With  her  the  dark  and  lonely  Yalley  through. 
Beside  him,  with  ached  hearts  and  trembling  limbs, 
In  terror  half  defined,  her  children  grouped, 
Close  huddling,  like  a  flock  of  frighted  quails, 
When  o'er  the  field  some  keen-eyed,  hungry  hawk 
Darts,  with  extended  wing,  in  quest  of  prey, — 
So  round  that  dying  couch  they  gathered  close, 
And  peered,  with  wistful  curiosity, 
Toward  the  sad  and  wasted  dying  face. 

Her  house  was  set  in  order,  and  her  lamp 
Close  trimmed  as  theirs  who  wait  the  Bridegroom's  step. 
Filled  to  the  burnished  rim  with  holy  oil. 
She  had  quaffed  copiously  those  waters  pure 
Of  which  spake  Jesus  to  Samaria's  daughter, — 
The  cool,  free,  gushing  stream  of  life  eternal, — 
Of  which,  if  any  man  shall  freely  drink. 
He  ne'er  shall  know  of  thirst  or  want  again. 
The  warning  night  might  cry  :    "  Behold  the  Bridegroom  I 
"  He  Cometh  !     Go  ye  out  to  meet  your  Lord !  " 
That  cry,  so  startling  to  so  many  ears, 
No  terrors  had  for  her  —  the  bride  in  white. 
Dying  she  was,  but  not  afraid  to  die  ; 
And  yet  she  fain  would  tarry  even  yet 
A  little  while  :  one  strong  tie  held  her  soul 
To  earth.     Her  boy  —  her  darling  eldest  boy. 
Of  sacred  wedlock's  fruit  the  first, —  was  absent. 
Absent,  though  homeward  bound,  and  with  no  thought 
That  hour  by  hour  around  his  youthful  heart 
Was  gathering  close  that  terrible  first  sorrow  !  — 
He  loitered  by  the  way  :  he  stood  not  there. 
Amid  the  sorrowing  throng,  with  low-bowed  head 


390  THE   DYING    MOTHER. 

The  parting  blessing  to  receive,  to  take 
The  last  farewell,  and  see  his  mother  die ! 

How  yearned,  as  only  mothers'  hearts  can  yearn  — 
That  mother's  heart  toward  her  absent  child  ! 
How  oft  and  earnestly  the  prayer  went  up, 
To  lengthen  out  awhile  life's  slender  thread 
Till  he  might  come  !  —  yet  still,  with  meek  submission, 
The  pale  lips  never  failed  at  last  to  add  : 
''  Thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done,  Oh  God !  " 

Three  days, 
From  day  to  day,  they'd  borne  her  wasted  form 
ISTear  to  a  window  whence  she  might  descry 
Th'  unwieldy  stage  go  slowly  lumbering  on 
Over  the  distant  pike ;  and  as  it  j)assed, 
Nor  halted,  down  her  wan  cheek  stole  a  tear. 
And  the  sad  whisper  followed,  oh,  so  faint !  — 
*'  When  will  my  darling  come  ?  " 

Three  weary  days  — 
Three  years,  to  her  —  had  passed,  when  lo  !  a  clear 
"  Halloa !  "  was  heard,  and  on  the  farther  shore 
Her  son  was  seen.     They  bore  her  the  glad  news. 
And  then  her  pale  face  flushed,  her  soft  brown  eye 
Its  former  lustre  caught,  while  round  her  mouth 
A  smile  of  heartfelt  gratitude  and  joy 
Played  soft,  and  sweet,  and  warm  as  sunbeams  lie 
"When  lingering  on  the  distant  mountain  top, 
Ere  the  refulgent  orb  puts  out  his  globe 
Of  fire  beneath  the  blue  and  peaceful  sea. 

Swift  as  an  arrow  speeding  from  the  bow 
Of  strong  man  armed  and  skilled  in  archery. 
Sped  o'er  the  stream  the  light  canoe  ;  and  soon 
The  boy  stood  on  the  longed-for  shore.     Xor  stood 
Inactive  ;  but  quick  clambering  up  the  banks. 


THE    DYING    MOTHER.  391 

Eoot-fringed,  he  passed  the  threshold  of  his  home, — 
His  home,  long  left,  and  sadly  found  again. 

Her  ear,  long-practised  and  expectant,  heard 
And  knew  the  welcome  footsteps  of  her  child. 
In  toddling  infancy  that  step  had  made, 
With  its  light  patterings,  music  in  her  heart ; 
And  she  had  heard  them  ring  in  boyhood's  strength, 
With  all  a  doting  mother's  glorious  pride. 
Eut  neither  when  in  helpless  infancy, 
Nor  yet  in  boyhood's  stronger,  freer  years. 
Had  they  inspired  such  joy  as  now  !     Her  couch 
He  gained,  and  bowed  his  head  in  anguish  deep, 
Unutterable,  upon  her  faithful  breast. 
Whose  every  throb  proclaimed  a  world  of  love. 
One  hand  toyed  gently  with  his  silken  locks, 
The  other  patted  lovingly  his  cheeks. 
All  blooming  with  the  roseate  hue  of  health  ; 
Then,  circling*  close  his  lithe  and  tender  form 
Within  her  fond  embrace,  with  rapture  long, 
Her  thin,  pale  lips  she  pressed  to  his,  and  clung 
As  though  she  would  have  taken  back  again 
The  life  once  given  and  nursed  through  happy  years. 
Then  gently  loosing  from  his  form  her  arms. 
She  looked  into  his  face  —  oh,  such  a  look 
Of  love,  and  hope,  and  pride,  and  sweet  content ! 
Then  strained  him  to  her  heart  again,  again, 
And  kissed  him  o'er  and  o'er,  and  laughed,  and  wept 
In  her  profoundest  joy. 

And  then  anon 
She  questioned  him  :    "  Was  not  her  poor  boy  tired 
With  travel  ?  "     "  Was  he  not  hungry  ?  "    "  Yes,  she  knew 
He  was  !  "  and  bade  a  servant  food  prepare. 
Who  but  a  mother,  in  an  hour  like  this, 
Would  such  solicitude  have  fondly  shown  ? 


392  THE    DYING    MOTHER. 

Yainly  the  boy  essayed  to  eat :  too  full 

His  heart,  too  great  his  grief,  for  human  food! 

For  well  and  sadly  he  remembered  then. 

How  six  months  earlier,  on  a  summer's  morn, 

She'd  bidden  him  farewell,  and,  weeping,  said  : 

**  I  ne'er  shall  see  your  face  again,  my  son. 

This  side  the  grave  !  "     And  how  himself  had  forced 

A  smile,  and  said  'twas  only  groundless  fear 

That  prompted  the  remark ;  and  yet  how  deep 

Had  been  the  impression  on  his  youthful  mind 

Of  that  chance  word,  so  nearly  verified. 

And  while  he  sat  apart  from  her  and  mused, 
One  came  in  haste  and  s^^oke  in  accents  low 
And  with  emotion  tremulous  :    "  Come  quickly, 
For  she  is  dying !  "     She  her  last  farewell 
Had  taken  of  her  husband  ;  the  dark  veil 
Of  death  'twixt  her  and  all  material  things 
Had  fallen  ;  her  arms  extended  groped  i'  th'  air 
As  if  they  sought  some  object  ever  fond, 
To  which  she  longed  to  give  her  last  embrace. 
Then  closed  they  nervously,  while  yet  her  lips 
Low  whispered  faint  his  name  —  her  darling  child  — 
Her  first,  her  most  beloved  —  if  mothers  know 
Such  difference, —  was  folded  to  her  heart : 
Her  heart,  alas !  so  pulseless  now  and  still ! 

Her  prayer  was  answered  ;  she  had  seen  her  child, 
And  she  was  dead  ! 

Upon  a  grassy  knoll, 
"Where  played  the  whispering  winds  amid  the  boughs 
Of  the  old  cedars,  and  where  peach-trees  scattered 
Their  pinky  blossoms  on  the  emerald  sward  — 
They  sadly  laid  her  form  away,  and  left  it 
Sleeping  the  last  long  dreamless  sleep  of  death. 
And  when  the  spring  time  on  Kanawha  came,  - 


THE    DYING    MOTHER.  393 

And  modest  violets  in  the  sunny  nook 
Their  purple  petals  opened  to  the  air, 
And  lowland  verdure  crept  toward  the  hills, 
And  doves  and  robins  cooed  and  sung  their  notes 
Of  joy  in  woodland,  meadow,  glade  and  glen, — 
Then  thither  came  the  boy,  and  cut  in  squares 
The  verdant  sod,  and  laid  it  over  her, 
(As  if  to  put  bereavement  farther  off 
By  making  green  the  grave  so  dearly  filled,) 
Set  there  the  fragrant  wild  rose  from  the  hills, 
And  reared  an  humble  structure,  rude  and  strong, 
To  guard  the  sacred  clay  from  careless  tread 
Of  brutish  beast,  or  scarce  less  brutish  man, 
Who,  unreflecting,  plants  his  careless  foot 
Upon  the  holiest,  dearest  spots  of  earth, 
Nor  deems  the  act  a  sacrilege ! 

Long  years 
Passed  on.     That  boy  bereaved  became  a  man. 
And  with  strong  heart  went  forth  to  battle  fierce 
And  steadfast,  on  the  way  of  human  life. 
He  has  travelled  far,  seen  much,  and  suffered  more. 
Positions  of  high  trust  and  weary  thought 
He  has  filled  responsibly  ;  drank  long  and  deep 
From  that  vexed  fountain,  popular  applause; 
Yiewed  scenes  of  quiet  happiness  and  peace. 
Where  love  to  love  responded ;  face  to  face, 
Met  shapes  of  sorrow,  violence,  and  death. 
Where  grief,  too  great  for  words,  sat  statue-dumb  — 
Where  anguish  raved,  destroying  hearts  and  lives; 
Made  on  the  battle-field  his  fearful  home, 
Where  death  upon  the  whizzing  bullet  sped. 
Or  shrieked  along  the  pathway  of  the  shell, 
Or  leaped  like  lightning  from  the  sabre's  edge, 
Or  shimmered  from  the  thousand  points  of  steel. 

All  this  ;  but  only  once  his  way-worn  foot 
17* 


394  THE    DYING    MOTHER. 

Hath  stood  upon  that  memory -haunted  spot, 

Since  in  young  manhood's  fresh  and  vigorous  prime 

He  bade  Kanawha's  wooded  hills  adieu. 

The  structure  rude  had  fallen  to  decay, 

But  the  sweet  grass  grew  fresh,  and  dank,  and  green, 

And  the  wild-rose  with  intermingled  leaves 

And  flowers  had  woven  a  curtain,  royal,  rich, 

Of  pink  and  emerald  hues,  and  redolent 

With  fragrance  only  breathed  from  Nature's  lips  — 

Woven  and  hung  it  there.     The  boy-man  turned  — 

The  boy-man,  rich  in  owning  such  a  grave  — 

And  as  he  did  so,  on  one  bended  blade 

Their  hung  a  tear-drop,  sparkling  diamond-bright. 

Proclaiming  how  even  yet  the  true  affections 

Paid  tribute  to  the  virtues,  dear  and  rare. 

Of  her  whose  hallowed  dust  was  laid  beneath. 

And  now  upon  a  lone  and  dreary  isle, 
Far  from  his  mother's  grave  —  from  gentle  wife 
And  native  mountains  far  —  so  sadly  far!  — 
He  sits  a  weary  captive,  hedged  around 
By  hostile  steel  —  his  great  and  damning  crime, 
Love  of  that  freedom  which  our  fathers  won ! 

Through  all  this  long  and  variegated  laj^se 
Of  circling  years,  despite  ambition  foiled 
And  gratified,  despite  the  witnessed  scenes 
Of  hope,  despair,  of  joy,  and  pain,  and  death. 
Despite  his  exile  lone: — the  memory 
Of  that  dear  mother's  fond  prophetic  words. 
Her  dying  prayer,  answered  so  by  heaven. 
The  light  that  came  t'  lustre-losing  eye. 
That  strained  embrace,  that  wild  and  clinging  kiss, 
Telling  the  rich,  unfathomable  depth 
Of  a  dear  parent's  holy  deathless  love, — 
All  these  survive,  green,  tender,  fadeless,  fresh. 
As  in  that  hour  which  made  him  Motherless  ! 

Johnson's  Island,  Ohio,  March,  IS&S. 


LAYING   AWAY    THE    OLD    FLAG.  395 


f  auing  %\xini^  ih  ©lir  Jfkg. 


[Theee  seems  a  peculiar  and  melancholy  appropriateness  in  this  poem, 
and  resembles  '*  The  Conquered  Banner."  This  was  published  in  a  New- 
York  daily  paper  at  the  close  of  1860,  or  the  beginning  of  1861,  and  had 
for  its  motto  the  following  passage  from  a  speech  of  Jefferson  Davis,  then 
yet  a  U.  S.  Senator,  when  the  secession  troubles  were  thickening  :  "  My 
pride,  Senators,  is  that  that  flag  shall  not  be  set  between  contending  breth- 
ren ;  but  that  when  it  shall  no  longer  be  the  common  flag  of  our  country,  it 
shall  be  folded  up  and  laid  away,  like  a  vesture  no  longer  used,  and  be  kept 
as  a  sacred  memento  of  the  past,  to  which  all  of  us  can  look  with  sacred 
interest,  and  remember  the  glorious  days  when  we  were  born  I  ' '  The 
other  was,  as  its  tone  so  truly  indicates,  the  wail  of  despair  over  the  flag 
of  the  defeated  Confederacy. — Ed.] 

Yes  !  fold  it  up  with  careful  hands, 

That  stainless  flaff  of  old. 
Which  floated  out  so  gloriously 

Above  the  true  and  bold ! 
How  many  memories  of  the  past 

Come  thronging  to  our  view, 
As  star  and  stripes  shine  brightly  forth 

Upon  the  field  of  blue ! 

The  air  of  victory  has  borne 

Its  free  folds  proudly  out ; 
In  every  fight  its  standard  prest 

On  with  the  victor's  shout. 
The  haughty  flag  of  England  fell 

Before  its  steady  light, 
And  conquering  legions  planted  it 

On  Montezuma's  height. 

And  from  the  mast  its  mimic  stars 

Shone  down  on  every  sea. 
Proclaiming  on  the  pathless  waves 

The  triumphs  of  the  free ; 


396  LAYING   AWAY   THE    OLD    FLAG. 

For  those  who  trod  the  deck  below 
Were  monarchs  of  the  tide, 

Protected  by  its  chartered  folds, 
The  symbol  of  their  pride  ! 

Brothers  from  all  our  broad  domain 

Have  borne  it,  hand  in  hand ; 
And  shall  it  wave  reluctantly 

O'er  half  our  parted  land  ? 
And  shall  the  generous  South,  opprest 

And  struggling  to  be  free, 
Find  in  the  battle's  van  that  flag 

Oppose  her  liberty  ? 

'No  !  let  the  Northmen  lead  their  hosts 

Beneath  their  "  bannered  Pine," 
And  mid  the  bright  Palmetto  leaves 

The  Southern  Stars  may  shine. 
But  fold  the  sacred  banner  up  — 

This  banner  of  the  Past  — 
And  weeping  eyes  and  gentle  hands 

Should  guard  it  to  the  last. 

Then,  if  old  memories  of  love 

Should  quell  the  angry  flood, — 
If  God  in  mercy  whisper  "  peace  ! " 

And  stay  the  tide  of  blood, — 
Then  let  it  wave  out  joyously 

O'er  every  hill  and  plain  ; 
Oh !  what  a  shout  of  joy  would  greet 

Its  stripes  and  stars  again ! 


THE    SWORD    OF   ROBERT    LEE.  397 


^t  Stoorir  of  ^obttt  f  w. 


BY  FATHER  A.    J.    RYAN. 


Forth  from  its  scabbard  pure  and  bright, 

Flashed  the  Sword  of  Lee. 
Far  in  the  front  of  the  deadly  fight, 
High  o'er  the  brave  in  the  cause  of  right. 
Its  stainless  sheen,  like  a  beacon  light. 

Led  us  to  victory  ! 

Out  of  its  scabbard,  where  full  long 

It  slumbered  peacefully  — 
Eoused  from  its  rest  by  the  battle-song. 
Shielding  the  feeble,  smiting  the  strong, 
Guarding  the  right,  avenging  the  wrong  — 

Gleamed  the  Sword  of  Lee! 

Forth  from  its  scabbard,  high  in  air. 

Beneath  Virginia's  sky ; 
And  they  who  saw  it  gleaming  there. 
And  knew  who  bore  it,  knelt  to  swear, 
That  where  that  sword  led  they  would  dare 

To  follow  and  to  die. 

Out  of  its  scabbard !     Never  hand 

Waved  sword  from  stain  as  free, 
Nor  purer  sword  led  braver  band, 
Nor  braver  bled  for  brighter  land, 
Nor  brighter  land  had  a  cause  as  grand. 
Nor  cause  a  chief  like  Lee  ! 

Forth  from  its  scabbard  !     How  we  prayed 

That  sword  might  victor  be  I 
And  when  our  triumph  was  delayed. 
And  many  a  heart  grew  sore  afraid. 


398  A   DIRGE   FOR   ASHBY. 

We  still  hoped  on  while  gleamed  the  blade 
Of  noble  Eobert  Lee  ! 

Forth  from  its  scabbard  !     All  in  vain ! 

Forth  flashed  the  sword  of  Lee  1 
'Tis  shrouded  now  in  its  sheath  again  ; 
It  sleeps  the  sleep  of  our  noble  slain, 
Defeated,  yet  without  a  stain. 

Proudly,  yet  peacefully  ! 


%  girgt  for  ^sljfair. 


BY  MRS.  M.  J.  PRESTON,  OF  VIRGINIA. 


Heard  ye  that  thrilling  word  — 

Accent  of  dread  — 
Flash  like  a  thunderbolt, 

Bowing  each  head — 
Crash  through  the  battle  dun. 
Over  the  booming  gun, 
^^  Ashby,  our  bravest  one, — 

Ashby  is  dead  !  " 

Saw  ye  the  veterans  — 
Hearts  that  had  known 

Never  a  quail  of  fear, 
Never  a  groan, — 

Sob  'mid  the  fight  they  win. 

Tears  their  stern  eyes  within, — 

"  Ashby,  our  Paladin, 
Ashby  is  gone  !  '^ 


A   DIRGE    FOR   ASHBY.  399 

Dash, —  ddsh  the  tear  away  — 

Crush  down  the  pain  ! 
"  Dulce  et  decus  "  be 

Fittest  refrain ! 
Why  should  the  dreary  pall 
Round  him  be  flung  at  all? 
Did  not  our  hero  fall 

Gallantly  slain  ? 

Catch  the  last  word  of  cheer 

Dropt  from  his  tongue ; 
Over  the  volley's  din, 

Loud  be  it  rung  — 
"  Follow  me  !  follow  me !  " 
Soldier,  oh  !  could  there  be 
Paean  or  dirge  for  thee, 

Loftier  sung ! 

Bold  as  the  Lion-heart, 

Dauntless  and  brave ; 
Knightly  as  knightliest 

Bayard  could  crave  ] 
Sweet  with  all  Sidney's  grace  — 
Tender  as  Hampden's  face  — 
Who — who  shall  fill  the  space 

Void  by  his  grave? 

'Tis  not  one  broken  heart. 

Wild  with  dismay  ; 
Crazed  with  her  agony, 

Weeps  o'er  his  clay  ; 
Ah  I  from  a  thousand  eyes, 
Flow  the  pure  tears  that  rise. 
Widowed  Virginia  lies 

Stricken  to-day  I 


400  THE  cavalier's  serenade. 

Yet,  though  that  thrilling  word- 

Acceut  of  dread  — 
Falls  like  a  thunderbolt, 

Bowing  each  head  — 
Heroes!  be  battle  done, 
Bravelier  every  one, 
INerved  by  the  thought  alone  — 

Ashby  is  dead! 


^In  Cafaalier's  ^^r^ixab^. 


BY  COL.  WM.  S.  HAWKINS. 


O,  come  to  the  heart  that  is  beating  for  thee ! 

By  the  hope  of  my  freedom,  my  bride  thou  shalt  be. 

Come,  dear  one,  come  bright  eyes,  let's  gallop  away, 

Far,  far  to  the  southward,  ere  dawn  of  the  day ; 

A  proud  steed  awaits  thee  —  my  band's  in  the  vale  — 

O  haste  thee,  love,  haste,  ere  the  night  watches  fail. 

Along  my  bold  legion  together  we'll  ride. 

And  my  gallants  will  honor  their  Cavalier's  bride  ! 

O,  fear  not  that  flash  where  the  rivulet  gleams. 
All  still  and  unconscious  the  enemy  dreams  : 
That  clang  ?  —  but  a  warrior  trying  his  blade  — 
Their  hearts  are  of  iron,  O,  be  not  afraid. 
That  light  ?  — but  the  sheen  on  a  bright-barreled  gun. 
That  murmer?  —  they  talk  of  the  deeds  we  have  done. 
Oar  chargers  are  matchless,  and,  bounding  along. 
Thy  beauty  shall  gladden  the  chief  of  the  throng. 


THE    cavalier's    SERENADE.  401 

The  moon's  pallid  beam  shineth  brightly  afar, 
And  fondly  doth  twinkle  our  love's  happy  star ; 
Then  come,  dearest,  come  to  my  sun-brightened  clime, 
Where  even  the  waters  run  rippling  in  rhyme  ; 
Where  the  breezes  are  laden  with  the  odors  of  flowers, 
And  beauty  and  gladness  lend  wings  to  the  hours  : 
When  sleeping,  my  sentries  shall  watch  o'er  the  lawn, 
And  my  silvery  bugle  shall  wake  thee  at  dawn. 

Where  the  oak  throws  its  shade  o'er  the  wild  muscadine, 
Where  the  mock-bird  is  singing,  thy  love  shall  be  mine. 
On  thee,  in  the  greenwood,  the  sun  shall  not  glare 
As  thy  white  hand  is  wreathing  thy  soft  silken  hair; 
Thy  bright  eyes  shall  glance  their  encouragement  sweet 
As  my  braves  sally  forth  on  their  coursers  so  fleet, 
And  returning  with  captures  and  spoils  to  thy  side. 
Thy  kiss  shall  reward  me,  my  darling,  my  bride ! 

The  lovers  of  Southland  are  tender  and  true. 
And  brook  no  denial  when  passion  they  sue; 
Then  come,  love,  away  to  the  camp  of  the  free, 
The  scout  of  the  woodland  bends  only  to  thee. 
A  ladder  of  silk  from  the  window  is  thrown ; 
One  leap,  and  thy  soldier  shall  hold  thee  —  his  own. 
Sound  the  rally,  my  lads,  then  away  like  the  deer. 
And  guard  well  the  bride  of  your  bold  Cavalier! 


402        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 


OB 

THE  CRIME  OF  A  MAJOR-GENERAL. 


BY  W.  H.  SYME,  M.  D.,  OF   LEWISBURG,  WEST  VIRGINIA. 


David  S.  Oreigh,  Esq.,  was  born  in  Lewisburg,  Green- 
brier county,  Virginia,  in  the  year  1807.  He  was  the 
fourth  child  of  Thomas  Creigh,  a  native  of  Antrim  county, 
Ireland.  His  father,  Thomas  Creigh,  became  a  resident  of 
Lewisburg  in  the  year  1792,  and  intermarried  with  JMiss 
Margaret  Linn  Williams,  in  the  year  1801.  Miss  Williams 
was  the  daughter  of  Captain  Samuel  Williams,  who  was 
also  a  native  of  Ireland,  and  having  married  previously, 
in  Augusta  county,  Virginia,  Mrs.  Agatha  Wilson,  a 
widowed  sister  of  Col.  John  Stuart,  of  Greenbrier,  removed 
to  the  county  of  Greenbrier,  in  the  year  1795.  Through 
his  mother,  David  S.  Creigh  was  related  to  many  families 
of  high  social  position,  prominence  and  influence,  from  the 
Blue  Ridge  to  the  Ohio  Eiver. 

Thomas  Creigh,  the  father  of  David,  resided  in  Lewis- 
burg about  fifty  years,  the  greater  portion  of  which  long 
period  was  devoted  to  mercantile  pursuits.  In  his  avoca- 
tion he  acquired  a  large  fortune,  and  maintained  it  through 
life,  and  left  to  his  numerous  family,  an  unsullied  name. 
During  early  life  he  had  been  schooled  in  the  pure  doc- 
trine of  the  Presbyterian  Church,  in  Ireland,  and  having 
exemplified,  by  his  life,  the  principles  of  his  early  educa- 
tioB,  he  died  at  a  very  advanced  age,  beloved,  esteemed 
and  revered. 

David  S.  Creigh  was  reared  in  the  same  faith  with  his 
father,  and,  although  he  did  not  make  an  open  profession 
of  relio-ion  until  the  summer  of  1857,  vet  such  was  the 
uniform  rectitude  and  propriety  of  his  life,  that  the  great 
revolution  then  wrought  was  far  more  in  the  interior  gov- 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 


403 


erninsT  motive  than  its  external  manifestation.  His  life, 
up  to  that  period,  so  exemplary,  had  been  but  the  out- 
birth  of  the  impulses  of  a  noble  nature,  guided  by  the 
wholesome  influence  of  early  moral  instruction — now  it 
became  an  emanation  of  those  pure  and  holy  influences, 
known  and  felt  by  the  Christian  heart  alone.  Mr.  Creigh's 
youth  and  early  manhood  were  devoted  to  merchandizing ; 
but  having,  in  the  year  1833,  married  Emily,  daughter  of 
Capt.  Charles  Arbuckle,  of  G-reenbrier)  one  of  the  oldest 
and  most  respectable  families  in  the  county,  he  abandoned 
the  mercantile  business,  and  for  the  remainder  of  his  life 
gave  his  attention  to  agriculture. 

In  the  life  of  a  man  whose  habits  were  so  domestic,  and 
whose  disposition  was  so  modest  and  unobtrusive,  as  were 
those  of  the  subject  of  this  sketch,  few  events  occur  which 
can  be  regarded  as  particularly  worthy  of  record.  The  in- 
disposition to  engage  in  public  life,  ever  manifested  by  such 
men,  withdraws  them  from  the  stage  of  notoriety,  and 
throws  the  veil  of  privacy  around  the  even  tenor  of  their 
virtuous  lives.  Nevertheless,  the  responsibilities  of  citi- 
zenship, of  Christianity,  and  of  private  life,  were  so  im- 
perative as  to  bring  Mr.  Creigh  forth  from  his  beloved  re- 
tirement, in  a  degree  sufficient  to  familiarize  his  country- 
men with  his  many  virtues,  and  to  win  alike  their  fond 
regard  and  universal  esteem.  The  writer  of  this  humble 
tribute  to  his  memory,  knew  him  from  about  the  time  of 
his  marriage,  and  intimately  for  many  years  before  his 
death,  and  he  knew  no  man  within  the  limits  of  our  coun- 
try whose  character  he  esteemed  as  more  irreproachable, 
and  whose  popularity  he  regarded  as  so  exclusively  a  volun- 
tary tribute  of  regard  on  the  part  of  the  people  for  exalted 
and  modest  merit. 

Though  again  and  again  solicited  to  accept  posts  of  profit, 
honor  and  distinction,  he  could  never  be  induced  to  do  so, 
and,  with  the  exception  of  the  Magistracy,  never  held  a 
public  '  office.     To  this,  upon  the  recommendation  of  the 


404       DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIKGINIA  MARTYR. 

County  Court  of  Greenbier,  he  was  appointed  by  the 
Executive  of  the  State,  in  1838,  and  upon  the  adoption  of 
the  Constitution  of  1850,  was  elected  to  it  again  by  the 
people,  and  continued  to  be  re-elected  up  to  the  time  of 
his  death.  He  also  filled  the  responsible  and  delicate  trust 
of  Bank  Director  for  a  number  of  years.  With  reference 
to  the  manner  in  which  he  discharged  the  duties  of  these 
two  posts,  the  writer  is  able  to  testify,  having  served  with 
him  in  both  capacities,  that,  both  as  a  Magistrate  and  as 
a  Director,  fidelity  to  the  trust  reposed  in  him,  firmness, 
impartiality,  integrity  and  courtesy,  ever  characterized 
him.  But  as  to  the  estimate  in  which  he  was  held  as  a 
Magistrate,  much  higher  testimony  than  that  of  any  indi- 
vidual may  be  found  in  his  repeated  re-election  to  the  office, 
and  in  the  resolutions  adopted  on  the  occasion  of  his  death 
by  the  County  Court,  of  which  he  was  so  long  a  member. 

Upon  making  a  profession  of  religion,  in  1857,  Mr. 
Creigh  united  himself  with  the  Presbyterian  Church;  and 
the  estimate  in  which  he  was  held,  as  a  Christian  and  a 
man,  induced  his  brethren  to  place  him  among  the  Elder- 
ship of  their  Church,  a  position  which  he  continued  to  hold 
up  to  the  time  of  his  death.  In  the  resolutions  adopted 
by  the  Session  of  the  Church,  will  be  found  an  expression 
of  the  sentiments  of  this  body,  of  their  high  opinions  of 
his  worth  as  a  Christian  and  a  man,  and  of  their  profound 
grief  for  the  loss  sustained  by  the  Church  and  society,  in 
his  lamentable  death. 

As  a  business  man,  Mr.  Creigh's  relations,  to  a  numerous 
family  and  society,  called  upon  him  to  act  as  fiduciary  in 
various  trusts,  alike  delicate  and  responsible.  The  wind- 
ing up  and  settlement  of  his  father's  large  estate  were 
principally  confided  to  him,  with  other  trusts ;  but  the 
duties  of  all  have  been  discharged  in  a  manner  satisfactory 
to  those  concerned,  and  at  the  same  time  so  quietly,  and 
with  so  much  humanity,  as  to  have  left  the  stronghold 
which  he  has  so  long  had  upon  the  public  regar'd  undi- 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRaiNIA  MARTYR.        405 

minished  in  strength,  and  to  have  given  rise  to  no  mur- 
murs and  complaints. 

In  politics,  he  was  a  a  firm,  consistent,  but  modest  and 
unassuming  member  of  the  great  conservative  party  of 
the  country ;  a  lover  of  peace,  and  of  the  Union,  and  ut- 
terly opposed  to  the  extremism,  l!»J^orth  and  South,  which 
has  resulted  so  disastrously  to  the  whole  country.  Until 
forbearance  ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  with  all  the  firmness  of 
his  manhood,  but  in  his  quiet  and  noiseless  way,  he  op- 
posed the  revolutionary  movements  which  ushered  in 
the  terrible  scenes  through  which  we  have  passed;  but 
when  war  became  inevitable,  and  he  saw  his  beloved  South 
about  to  be  overrun  by  75,000  men,  and  that  no  terms  of 
compromise  or  adjustment  would  be  entertained,  true  to 
the  instincts  of  his  manly  nature,  his  brave  heart  responded 
to  the  call  of  his  oppressed  and  wronged  people,  and  their 
God,  their  wrongs,  their  cause  became  his  own.  His  age, 
and  the  care  of  a  large  family,  imposed  upon  him  the  po- 
sition of  a  non-combatant,  but  his  heart  and  services, 
within  the  S2:)here  of  his  operations,  were  devoted  to  the 
Southern  cause. 

But  though,  in  common  with  his  neighbors,  subjected  to 
the  hardships  and  privations  consequent  upon  the  war, 
and  a  ruthless  and  merciless  invasion,  his  Christian  and 
manly  virtues  never  forsook  him.  After  the  battle  of 
Lewisburg  he  was  to  be  found  among  the  first  on  the 
bloody  field  of  battle,  extending,  alike,  to  friend  and  foe, 
the  oflSces  of  the  good  Samaritan,  and  his  Christian  charity 
and  Virginia  hospitality  would  not  suffer  him  to  withhold, 
from  the  hungry  wretches  destined  to  become  his  mur- 
derers, such  fare  as  his  table  afforded.  As  an  instance  of 
the  chivalric  honor  and  noble  generosity  of  the  man,  the 
following  anecdote  may  be  cited  : 

While  Gen.  Crook,  with  his  army,  was  camping  at 
Meadow  Bluff,  in  the  county  of  Greenbrier,  in  the  year 
1862,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Creigh's,  from  a  neighboring  western 


406        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

county,  came  to  him  and  told  him  that  Crook  had  per- 
mitted his  men,  rudely  and  grossly,  to  insult  his  wife  and 
daughters,  and  that  he  was  determined  to  waylay  Crook 
as  he  passed  along  the  turnpike,  and  pick  him  off  with  his 
trusty  rifle.  Mr.  Creigh  tried  to  dissuade  him  from  his 
purpose,  using  such  arguments  as  he  thought  most  likely 
to  change  his  determination,  but  he  found  his  friend  im- 
movable. Knowing  the  determined  character  of  the  man, 
and  confident  that  he  would  carry  out  his  intention  if  not 
prevented,  ]\Ir.  Creigh  then  urged  upon  his  friend  to  re- 
main with  him  a  few  days,  and  accompany  him  upon  some 
trip  which  he  was  about  to  take.  The  friend,  unaware  of 
Mr.  Creigh's  intention,  and  of  Crook's  anticipated  depar- 
ture, consented  to  do  so.  In  the  meantime,  Gen.,  then 
Col.  Crook,  left  Meadow  Bluff'  with  his  forces,  and  thus 
Mr.  C.  succeeded,  in  all  probability,  in  saving  the  life  of 
the  very  man  by  whose  order  he  was  subsequently  arrest- 
ed, and  to  whom  and  G-en'l  Hunter  the  family  of  our  de- 
ceased friend  are  indebted  for  their  irreparable  loss,  and 
our  community  for  the  death  of  one  of  its  most  estimable, 
most  valuable,  and  most  beloved  citizens,  and  the  civilized 
world  one  of  the  most  execrable  and  detestable  crimes 
committed  during  this  war  of  horrors. 

It  follows  necessarily,  from  what  has  been  said  above, 
that  Mr.  Creigh,  in  the  various  relations  of  life,  could  not 
have  been  otherwise  than  exemplary.  His  virtues,  as  a 
man,  and  as  a  gentleman  and  as  a  Christian,  eminently 
fitted  him  to  fill  every  domestic  and  social  position  inci- 
dent to  life;  and  consequently,  we  find  him  as  a  husband, 
as  a  father,  as  a  son,  as  a  brother,  as  a  master,  as  a  citizen 
and  as  a  neighbor,  beloved,  respected  and  lamented. 

From  the  time  of  his  arrest  and  departure  from  Lewis- 
burg,  as  a  prisoner  in  the  custody  of  G-eneral  Crook's 
Army,  the  deepest  anxiety  was  felt,  in  his  behalf,  by  the  peo- 
ple of  Greenbrier.  Conjecture  upon  conjecture  was  indulged 
in  as  to  his  probable  fate ;  but  the  idea  that  such  a  man  as 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.        407 

D.  S.  Creigh  could  be  sentenced  to  an  ignominious  death, 
and  executed  by  gentlemen  for  having  tried  to  protect  his 
wile  and  daughters  in  his  own  house  from  the  insults  of  a 
ruffian,  and  his  house  from  plunder  by  the  same,  was  too 
horrible  to  be  entertained !     With  General  Crook  our  com- 
munity was  acquainted,  and,  from  their  previous  know- 
ledge of  the  man,  could  draw  no  such  inference  as  to  his 
probable  course.     But,  alas !  their  hopes  were  destined  to 
a  bitter  and  cruel  disappointment.     When  the  intelligence 
of  his  barbarous  execution  reached  the  county,  the  whole 
community  seemed  shocked.     Never  have  I  known  the 
death  of  one  man,  even  in  a  time   of  profound  peace,  so 
sensibly  to  affect  a  whole  peoj^le.     The  writer  conversed 
with  many,  and  every  man  seemed  to  feel  the  blow,  as  if 
it  had  fallen  immediately  within  his  own  domestic  circle. 
In  accordance  with  his  request,  his  remains  having  been 
disinterred  from  the  grave  in  which  they  had  been  depos- 
ited in  Eockbridge  county,  Ya.,  were  brought  to  his  home 
on  the  28th  of  July,  1864,  and  having  been  watched  over 
for  three   days  by  his  devoted  "family,  were,  on  Sunday 
morning,  July  31st.,  escorted  by  a  funeral  procession  of 
more  than  a  mile  in  length,  taken  to  the  Presbyterian 
church    in   Lewisburg.      In   this   venerable    old    church, 
whose  services  he  had  regularly  attended  from  early  child- 
hood, the  funeral  obsequies  were  performed      After  sing. 
i^g  l>y  tbe  choir  and  prayer,  his  revered  old  Pastor,  Dr. 
McElhenny,  who  had  known  him  from  childhood's  hour, 
in  words  which  drew  tears  from  eyes  unused  to  weep, 
portrayed  his  manly  virtues.     The  funeral  was  preached 
by  the  Eev.  J.  C.  Barr.   His  subject — The  Christian  Martyr. 
The  services  being  completed,  his  remains  were  deposited 
by  the  side  of  his  ancestors  and  relatives  (in  the  grave- 
yard adjoining  the   church,)  there  to  remain  until  the  re- 
surrection morn.    As  the  throng  retired  from  the  grave,  an 
old  and  highly  respectable  citizen  of  the  county  remarked, 
"  That  the  State  never  lost  a  better  citizen ;  nor  the  grave 
received  a  nobler  man." 


408        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

He  has  gone  to  his  last  resting  jilacc  on  earth,  but  the 
spot,  consecrated  by  his  remains,  will  not  soon  be  forgot- 
ten. Proud  of  the  name  he  has  left  them,  hallowed  as  it 
is  by  so  many  noble  virtues — so  many  sacred  memories, 
his  friends,  his  relatives  and  his  children,  from  generation 
to  generation,  will  revere  the  spot,  as  commemorative  of 
departed  worth,  and  suggestive  to  all  who  may  visit  it,  of 
a  noble  example  of  manly  and  heroic  virtue,  chastened 
and  purified  by  the  holy  influence  of  the  Eeligion  of  our 
Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ. 

For  an  account  of  the  circumstances  which  led  to  the 
death  of  Mr.  Creigh ;  the  cruel  mockery  of  his  trial ;  his 
noble  letter  to  his  beloved  wife,  and  his  barbarous  execu- 
tion, see  an  extract  from  the  Central  Presbyterian,  published 
below.  See  also  the  resolutions  passed  by  the  Session  of 
the  Presbyterian  Church  and  the  County  Court  of  Green- 
brier, of  both  of  which  bodies  he  was  a  member  at  the 
time  of  his  lamented  death.  ~ 

MURDER    OF    DAVID    S.    CREIGH,  OF    GREENBRIER  COUNTY,  VA. 

We  record  below  one  of  the  most  deliberate  and  horrid 
murders  known  in  these  days  of  darkness.  No  fouler 
deed  has  stained  the  hands  of  our  enemies,  so  often  red 
with  innocent  blood. 

We  have  abstained  from  a  hasty  publication,  expecting 
the  facts  from  the  most  trustworthy  sources.  Such  are 
now  in  our  possession.  They  are  contained  in  a  letterfrom 
Dr.  Thomas  Creigh,  a  brother  of  the  deceased,  a  gentleman 
well  known  as  one  of  the  most  eminent  physicians  in  that 
part  of  the  State,  and  who,  for  some  years,  represented  the 
large  and  very  intelligent  county  of  G-reenbrier,  both  in 
the  Senate  and  the  House  of  Delegates,  of  Ya.  We  have 
also  a  copy  of  the  letter  addressed  by  David  S.  Creigh  to 
his  wife,  a  few  hours  before  his  execution  ;  a  copy  of  the 
letter  addressed  by  the  Federal  Chaplain,  Eev.  A.  G,  Os- 
born,  to  Mrs.   Creigh,  and  written  in  Lewisburg,  during 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.        409 

General  Hunter's  disastrous  retreat;  and  a  copy  of  the 
paper  adopted  by  the  Session  of  the  Presbyterian  Church 
in  Lewisburg  —  published  last  week.  Besides  these  are 
letters  from  persons  of  the  highest  standing,  whose  names 
are  a  complete  voucher  for  whatever  they  assert.  Alto- 
gether, the  material  facts  in  the  case  may  be  regarded  as 
beyond  dispute.  Instead  of  publishing  all  these  docu- 
ments—  often  repetitions  substantially  of  the  same  thing 

—  it  is  judged  best  to  combine  them  into  one  statement, 
with  such  reference  and  quotations  as  may  be  needful. 

We  owe  it  to  the  memory  of  one  of  the  best  men  with- 
in our  knowledge,  a  most  worthy  elder  in  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  to  his  deeply  bereaved  family,  kindred  and  friends, 
to  set  before  the  world,  for  its  judgment  thereupon,  this 
faithful  narrative. —  Editor  Central  Presbyterian. 

All  persons  in  the  habit  of  visiting  Lewisburg,  twenty 
years  ago,  will  remember  the  happy  household  of  Thomas 
Creigh.  He  was  a  venerable  man,  of  thoroughly  approved 
integrity  and  piety ;  of  ample  wealth  also,  the  fruit  of  his 
own  industry.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  he  was  the  inti- 
mate, trusted  friend  of  his  pastor,  the  Eev.  John  McElhen- 
ny,  D.  D.,  that  beloved  patriarch  of  the  Presbyterian 
Church,  and  still  living,  beyond  four-score  years,  to  guide, 
and  bless,  and  comfort  his  people,  now  so  greatly  afflicted. 
The  children  of  the  family  mentioned  —  many  in  number 

—  were  carefully  brought  up  "  in  the  nurture  and  admoni- 
tion of  the  Lord.^'  They  were  every  way  well  prepared 
to  take  their  place  among  the  most  respected  and  cherish- 
ed, in  a  community  distinguished  for  its  good  order,  intel- 
ligence and  religious  character. 

David  S.  Creigh,  whose  tragical  end  we  are  about  to  re- 
cord, was  one  of  the  sons  in  this  excellent  family.  His 
reputation  was  of  the  highest  order.  No  man  in  the  large 
county  of  Greenbrier  was  better  known  or  more  esteemed  ; 
few,  if  any,  had  more  influence.  Besides  offices  of  high 
18 


410       DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

public  trust  in  civil  life,  he  was  a  valued  elder  in  the 
Presbyterian  church  of  Lewisburg,  one  of  the  largest  and 
most  respectable  in  the  Synod  of  Yirginia,  and  over  which 
Dr.  McElhenny  and  his  colleague,  Eev.  J.  C.  Barr,  presided 
as  pastors.  The  session  of  that  chui^h  is  composed  of 
gentlemen  (among  them  the  present  Lieutenant-Grovernor 
of  Ya.,)  whose  names  are  a  complete  voucher  for  the  truth 
of  all  they  state.  Their  testimony  concerning  Mr.  Creigh, 
given  in  the  presence,  under  the  menace,  it  might  be  said, 
of  a  watchful  and  vindictive  foe,  has  been  already  publish- 
ed. They  declare  him  to  have  been  "  a  citizen  of  elevated 
character,  a  Christian  of  blameless  life."  "  To  a  lofty 
integrity  he  joined  an  unswerving  truth  ;  to  the  noble 
qualities  of  a  gentleman,  he  added  the  nobler  qualities  of 
a  Christian.  These  he  illustrated  in  his  daily  walk  and 
conversation ;  he  had  many  friends  and  few  enemies,  be- 
cause he  was  emphatically  a  Christian  gentleman."  In 
short,  he  was  known  everywhere  as  one  of  the  very  best 
men  in  that  whole  community.  This  brief  statement  is 
enough  to  introduce  that  which  we  now  proceed  to  relate. 
In  the  early  part  of  last  November,  and  while  the  army 
of  General  Crook  was  in  the  vicinity  of  Lewisburg,  Mr. 
David  S.  Creigh,  whose  residence  was  about  two  miles  from 
the  town,  upon  entering  his  house  one  day,  was  informed 
that  a  Federal  soldier,  a  man  of  dissolute  habits,  was 
within,  engaged  in  the  work  of  -robbing  the  house,  and 
also  using  very  insulting  and  abusive  language  to  his  wife 
and  daughters  ;  that  he  was  at  that  very  moment  up  stairs 
breaking  open  drawers  and  trunks.  Mr.  Creigh,  having  a 
small  pistol  in  his  pocket,  went  up  stairs,  where  he  saw 
the  contents  of  his  daughter's  trunks  scattered  over  the 
floor,  and  some  of  them  flaunted  in  his  wife's  face.  The 
soldier  soon  tried  to  break  open  the  trunk  of  a  young  lady 
who  was  employed  as  a  teacher  in  the  family.  Mr.  Creigh 
requested  him  to  desist  from  the  attempt,  stating  at  the 
same  time  that  it  was  the  property  of  a  lady  under  his 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.        411 

care.  The  villain,  rising  from  the  trunk,  immediately 
drew  his  pistol,  cocked  it,  and  pointed  it  at  Mr.  C,  ex- 
claiming, "  go  out  of  this  room  !  What  are  you  doing 
here  ?  Bring  me  the  keys  !  "  Mr.  C.  drew  his  pistol,  and 
snapped  it  at  the  fellow,  he,  at  the  same  instant,  firing  his 
pistol,  and  the  ball,  grazing  Mr.  Creigh's  face,  passed  into 
the  wall.  He  then  seized  the  robber,  and  in  the  scuflSe 
which  followed,  was  pushed  out  into  the  passage,  and 
thrown  down  the  stairs  at  the  front  door  of  the  house, 
the  soldier  falling  upon  him.  They  rose  together,  and  in 
the  attempt  to  wrest  the  pistol  from  the  Yankee's  hands, 
it  was  accidentally  discharged,  and  the  first  discovery  of 
its  effects  upon  his  person  was  from  seeing  the  profuse 
flow  of  his  blood.  He  struggled  into  the  portico,  where 
he  again  fired  his  pistol  at  Mr.  C,  the  ball  going  into  the 
upper  part  of  the  front  door.  A  negro  woman  standing 
at  the  door  with  an  axe  in  her  hand,  cried,  "Master,  he 
will  get  up,"  and  begged  him  to  strike  him  with  the  axe; 
which  was  taken  from  her  hands,  and  this  infamous  robber 
forthwith  despatched. 

The  Federal  Army  were  in  the  country.  To  have  the 
case  judged  by  the  civil  court  was  impossible.  Should 
Mr.  Creigh  carry  it  before  the  enemies  of  his  country? 
He  determined  not  to  do  this.  After  consultation  and  ad- 
vice, the  body  was  disposed  of  in  a  private  manner.  We 
mean  by  this  that  the  matter  was  not  made  a  public  sjdcc- 
tacle. 

The  very  same  motive  was  upon  Mr.  Creigh  that  influ- 
enced Moses  of  old,  when  the  Egyptian  he  had  slain  was 
hid  in  the  sand.  An  Irishman  about  the  house,  a  hired  la- 
borer, told  the  matter  to  a  negro  boy  belonging  to  a  neigh- 
bor, and  when  the  Federal  army  returned  to  Greenbrier, 
in  June,  this  slave  went  off  to  them,  and  gave  them 
information.  Search  was  made  and  the  remains  found. 
Mr.  Creiijh  made  a  candid  statement  of  the  whole  occur- 
rence  to  the  military  authorities,  declaring  that  he  consid- 


412        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

ered  himself  justified  in  what  he  had  done,  and  that  he 
would  do  the  same  thing  to  any  soldier,  whether  Fed- 
eral or  Confederate,  under  the  same  circumstances. — 
After  his  arrest,  they  took  his  wife  and  two  daughters 
about  ten  o'clock  on  a  very  dark  night;  compelled  them 
to  ride  behind  their  guard  on  horseback,  four  miles  to  head- 
quarters. They  did  not,  however,  ask  them  a  question, 
nor  were  they  even  permitted  to  see  Mr.  Creigh.  He  re- 
quested that  his  excellent  friend  and  neighbor,  Mr.  John 
W.  Dunn,  should  appear  as  a  witness.  They  sent  for  him, 
but  would  not  permit  him  to  answer  a  single  question. 

They  departed  from  the  neighborhood  of  Lewisburg  the 
next  day,  leaving  Mrs.  Creigh  and  her  two  daughters  to 
go  on  foot  to  that  place,  four  miles  distant.  Mr.  Creigh 
they  marched  on  foot  to  Staunton,  a  distance  of  one  hun- 
dred miles,  and  where  the  forces  under  Averill  were  joined 
by  the  army  under  Hunter.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  his  wife, 
in  which  he  speaks  of  his  entire  ignorance  of  his  destina- 
tion, supposing  however  that  it  was  probal)ly  Staunton. 
He  exhorts  her  to  bear  up  under  the  trial,  hoping  to  meet 
his  family  soon  again  on  earth  —  at  all  events  in  a  better 
world.  This  is  about  all  the  information  his  friends  have 
concerning  him,  till  the  time  of  his  end.  The  few  facts 
known  concerning  his  murder  we  now  proceed  to  relate. 

The  army  of  General  Hunter  left  Staunton  on  Friday, 
June  the  10th,  proceeding  up  the  Valley  towards  Lexing- 
ton, by  various  roads.  On  Sunday  evening,  the  12th,  G-en. 
Averill  encamped  on  Hay's  Creek,  about  two  miles  below 
Brownsburg.  The  spot  selected  was  the  home  of  our 
childhood  —  the  farm  owned  by  our  father,  and,  ever  since 
his  death,  by  his  son-in-law  and  successor  as  pastor  of  New 
Providence  Church,  the  Eev.  James  Morrison.  The  tent 
of  Gen.  Averill  was  pitched  in  his  yard.  About  dark  a 
rather  elderly-looking  person  knocked  at  the  door,  an- 
nouncing himself  as  the  Kev.  Mr.  Osborn,  from  Union 
Town,  Pennsylvania,  a  Chaplain  of  theFederal  Army.    He 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.        413 

requested  to  see  Mr.  Morrison,  stating  that  they  had  with 
the  army  a  citizen  of  Greenbrier  county  whose  name  was 
Creio-h,  that  he  was  under  sentence  of  death,  and  was  about 
to  be  executed.  (His  doom  had  just  been  announced.) 
He  also  said  Mr.  Creigh  had  mentioned  that  he  was  well 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Morrison,  had  often  heard  him 
preach,  and  that,  in  the  immediate  prospect  of  death, 
he  had  sent  to  ask  an  interest  in  his  prayers.  He  stated 
farther,  in  answer  to  inquiries  on  that  point,  that  no  com- 
munication with  the  prisoner  would  be  permitted.  He 
was  kept  under  strict  guard  in  a  negro  cabin  close  by,  and 
though  repeated  efforts  were  made  that  night  to  visit  him, 
they  were  in  vain.  It  was  at  this  awful  hour,  and  imme- 
diately after  knowing  his  fate,  that  Mr.  Creigh  wrote  his 
beloved  wife  the  following  letter,  from  which  we  omit  only 
a  few  matters  relating  to  his  private  affairs : 

June  10th,  1864. 

Dear  Emily  :  I  arrived  this  evening  at  the  Eev.  James 
Morrison's,  in  Eockbridge  county.  After  eating  my  supper 
I  was  taken  into  a  house  and  the  sentence  pronounced  that 
I  was  to  be  hung.  I  was  not  permitted  any  counsel  in  my 
case. 

I  wish  you,  my  dear  beloved  wife,  to  bear  up  under  this 
dreadful  bereavement ;  you  and  all  the  children  bear  up 
under  this  as  well  as  you  can,  and  all  try  to  meet  me  in 
heaven.  I  am  meeting  death  with  calmness,  believing  and 
trusting  in  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  the  Saviour  of  sinners. 
My  sincere  wish  is  that  all  my  brothers  and  sisters  may 
meet  me  in  heaven. 

In  my  sentence  it  was  read,  that  the  house  was  to  be 
burned  to  the  ground,  but  the  gentleman  that  brought  me 
this  paper  said  that  part  of  the  sentence  would  not  be 
carried  out.  I  hoped  that  I  would  once  more  see  you  all 
on  earth,  but  it  is  decreed  otherwise,  and  I  have  to  submit. 
I  wish  my  remains  to  be  removed  and  laid  by  the  side  of  our 
father's  and  mother's,  as  soon  as  convenient.  The  execu- 
tion will  take  place  in  a  few  minutes.  The  Eev.  A.  Gr. 
Osborn  has  prayed  for  me  before  I  commenced  writing. 


414       DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

I  sent  for  him  this  minute,  and  he  and  Provost  Marshal 
came  in  together,  and  the  Provost  Marshal  was  authorized  to 
say  the  execution,  if  I  wished,  should  not  take  place  until 
day-light,  which  I  accepted  :  that  much  more  time  to  offer 
up  prayers  to  Grod,  for  myself  and  dear  beloved  wife,  and 
children  to  meet  me  in  heaven. 

My  dear  brother  Louis,  1  know  how  this  will  affect  you. 
You  know  all  about  my  business.  =*  *  #  i  wish 
my  beloved  son  Cyrus,  if  he  is  spared  through  this  dreadful 
war,  to  manage  my  business  with  your  assistance  ;  as  du- 
tiful a  son  as  ever  lived,  and  I  must  say  so  for  all  my  sons 
and  daughters.  I  now  leave  you,  Cyrus,  Thomas,  Charles, 
Eufus,  David,  Christopher,  Lockhart,  Egbert,  Margaret, 
Mary  and  Elizabeth ;  leave  you  with  your  Christian 
mother.  Cod  be  your  stay  and  support,  trusting  in  God, 
and  preparing  to  meet  me  in  heaven. 

David  S.  Creigh. 

The  next  morning,  a  little  after  sunrise,  he  was  brought 
out  under  guard,  put  into  a  wagon,  and  conveyed  up  a 
little  vale  to  a  spot  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  north  of  the 
house,  and  in  full  view  of  it.  There  upon  a  tree,  close  by 
a  fountain  known  as  the  "  big  spring,"  was  this  most  in- 
famous deed  of  demons,  in  the  shape  of  men,  perpetrated, 
and  their  malice  gratified. 

About  nine  o'clock  that  day,  as  the  army  began  to  move, 
the  chaplain  again  knocked  at  the  door  to  inquire  whether 
the  family  were  aware  of  the  solemn  event  which  had 
taken  place.  He  expressed  the  strong  impressions  he  had 
received  of  Mr.  Creigh  being  a  good  man,  and  bore  testi- 
mony to  the  perfect  composure  and  Christian  spirit  with 
which  he  met  his  death.  (Some  of  the  private  soldiers 
took  occasion  to  declare  their  opinion  that  the  execution 
was  no  better  than  murder  ;  that  in  killing  the  soldier,  he 
had  done  no  more  than  he  was  bound  to  do.)  He  stated 
also  that  it  was  his  request  that  his  remains  might  be  left 
so  that  his  friends  could  obtain  them,  and  as  soon  as  the 
army  departed,  the  body  left  hanging  on  the  tree  might 
be  taken  down.     This  was  accordingly  done.     The  wife 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.  415 

of  the  venerable  minister  (he  being  in  very  feeble  health, 
could  not  assist,)  with  such  assistance  as  could  be  com- 
manded, proceeded  to  attend  at  once  to  this  mournful 
office.  The  body  was  taken  down,  wrapped  in  a  blanket, 
and  put  into  a  grave  dug  on  the  spot,  until  better  arrange- 
ments could  be  made.  In  the  disturbed  condition  of  the 
community  —  nearly  all  the  male  portion  being  absent  — 
it  was  not  until  Thursday  that  a  coffin  could  be  procured. 
By  that  time  one  of  the  sons  of  Mr.  Creigh,  in  Gen. 
Breckenridge's  army,  having  heard  of  the  fate  of  his 
father,  had  come  over,  and  was  present  when  the  remains 
of  this  good  man  were  suitably  laid  in  the  grave-yard  of 
New  Providence  Church. 

The  following  comments  upon  the  preceding  facts,  by 
the  Eev.  Dr.  Brown,  an  eminent  minister  of  the  Presby- 
terian Church,  and  editor  of  the  Central  Presbyterian,  em- 
bodied the  sentiment  of  the  entire  people  of  the  Confeder- 
acy, and  will  find  a  response  in  the  heart  of  every  honor- 
able man  throughout  the  world  : 

DAVID    S.    CREIGH. 

The  reader  is  referred  to  the  fir^t  page  of  this  paper  for 
a  statement  of  facts  concerning  the  murder  of  this  good 
and  upright  man.  Whether  anything  more  pertaining  to 
his  pretended  trial  will  ever  come  to  light  this  side  of  the 
great  judgment,  is  known  to  God  only.  In  the  meantime, 
the  facts  brought  before  us,  and  about  which  there  is  no 
reason  to  doubt,  are  too  solemn,  too  vital  in  their  charac- 
ter and  bearing  to  be  passed  over.  If  there  breathes  in 
this  land  a  man  who  can  look  upon  this  diabolical  outrage 
with  an  unmoved  heart,  it  is  only  because  that  heart  is 
dead  to  everything  most  precious  in  our  birth  right. 

What  are  we  to  learn  from,  this  tragedy  f  Our  people  are 
now  given  to  understand  that  it  is  the  privilege,  the  right 
of  every  licentious  Federal  soldier  to  enter  our  houses  at 
pleasure,  abuse  and  insult  our  wives  and  daughters,  rifle 


416        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

our  trunks  and  drawers.     If  we  dare  remonstrate,  we  are 
to  be  ordered  out  like  a  spaniel.     "  What  are  you  doing  here  ? 
Bring  me  the  keys !  "     This  is  the  style  of  proceeding.     The 
villain,  at  the  same  time,  has  his  pistol  draivn,  cocked  and 
pointed  at  your  breast!     This  was  exactly  the  case  here. 
Another  letter  from  a  most  intelligent  gentleman  living 
close  by,  and  whose  relation  to  Mr.  Creigh  would  lead  to 
an  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  whole  matter,  mentions 
the  additional  fact  that  the  ruffian  attempted  to  force  his 
way  into  the  chamber  of  a  sick  daughter.     But  no  mat- 
ter; the  edict  of  this  execution  is  plainly  as  follows:  "You 
infamous  rebels  !  not  only  will  we  kill  you  when  we  can 
in  open  battle,  but  we  will  also  give  our  soldiers  unlimited  li- 
cense to  visit  your  homes  at  will,  in   squads  or  singly. 
Your  property,  your  families  are  at  their  pleasure.     Speak 
a  word,  if  you  dare.     Defend  your  lives  against  a  drawn, 
deadly  weapon,  and  the  first  time  we  lay  hands  upon  you, 
your  necks  shall  be  treated  to  a  halter."     That  is  the  plain 
English  of  this  infamous  transaction. 

And  let  a  peculiar  aggravation  be  noted.  This  execu- 
tion of  Mr.  Creigh  is  not  the  wreaking  of  private,  indivi- 
dual malice,  nor  an  outbreak  of  popular  vengeance.  JS'o,  it 
is  the  deliberate  act  of  military  authority.  It  passed  through 
the  hands  of  a  military  court,  and  was  ajDj^roved  by  Gen- 
eral Hunter.  This  gives  it  great  significance.  This  offi- 
cially justifies  the  lawless  aggressor;  and  the  act  of  defend- 
ing home  and  life  by  our  citizens  it  pronounces  a  crime  to 
be  expiated  upon  the  gallows.  Ijct  our  people,  our  govern- 
ment, ponder  this  in  their  hearts. 

Again,  let  it  be  remarked,  that  this  trial  was  a  mere 
mockery.  He  was  in  their  hands  about  three  weeks;  but 
neither  witness  nor  counsel  were  allowed  to  appear  in  his 
behalf.  And  this  in  the  case  of  a  citizen,  a  man  of  the 
highest  character.  And,  moreover,  as  the  Yankee  Con- 
gress has  included  Greenbrier  county  in  their  so-called 
AYest  Virginia,  Mr.  Creigh  was,  in  the  contemplation  of  their 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.         417 

law^  one  of  their  own  citizens.  Since  the  sun  of  heaven 
hid  its  face  from  the  judicial  murder  of  the  Saviour  of 
men,  has  it  ever  witnessed  a  fouler  transaction  at  any  tri- 
bunal, even  the  basest  of  earth. 

The  verdict  of  the  country  will  more  than  justify  the 
act  for  which  this  excellent  man  has  suffered  death.  In 
the  letter  of  the  Federal  chaplain  to  Mrs.  Creigh,  he  says: 
"  He  was  condemned  to  die  principally  on  his  own  confes- 
sion, together  with  corroborating  circumstances."  From 
this  it  would  appear  there  was  no  witness  against  him. 
As  to  "  corroborating  circumstances,"  they  amount  to  no- 
thing. The  prisoner  was  not  a  man,  when  making  a  state- 
ment, to  give  any  but  a  full  and  candid  one.  To  call  it  a 
confession,  is  a  misnomer.  A  confession  is  for  the  guilty. 
But  Mr.  Creigh,  whilst  owning  the  deed,  vindicated  its 
righteousness  in  the  very  face  of  the  tribunal  that  mocked 
justice  in  his  condemnation.  What  he  justified,  a  candid 
world  will  applaud.  Our  enemies  have  long  since  found 
it  a  costly  experiment  to  meet  our  brothers  and  sons  in 
open  battle.  With  a  spirit  as  base  as  it  is  cowardly,  they 
find  a  more  congenial  work  in  the  plunder  of  our  homes. 
What  cannot  be  carried  away,  or  boxed  up  and  sent  North 
is  broken  or  burned.  This  wanton  destraction  of  the 
most  costly  furniture  has  been  the  fate  of  once  splendid 
mansions,  now  counted  in  their  ruins,  thousands  upon 
thousands.  Some  of  their  own  papers  have  fastened  the 
guilt  of  this  vandalism  upon  our  enemies.  JN'orthern  habi- 
tations are  filled  with  the  costl}^  property  of  Southern 
gentlemen,  not  captured  lawfully  in  war,  but  literally  and 
shamelessly  plundered,  and  now  kept  for  the  eye  of  ad- 
miring visitors,  as  illustrating  the  character  of  "  the  most 
refined  and  religious  people,"  also  of  ''  the  best  govern- 
ment in  the  world  !  "  They  expect  to  encounter  only  old 
men,  women  and  children.  The  extent  to  which  this  de- 
vastation has  gone  is  hardly  imagined,  as  yet,  outside  of 
the  Confederate  States.  We  verily  believe  had  this  fiend- 
18* 


418        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

ish  spirit  met  at  first,  in  every  Southern  home,  a  David  S. 
Creigh,  it  would  have  been  in  a  great  measure  averted. 

When  the  Gauls  made  an  irruption  into  Rome,  one 
of  them  went  so  far  in  the  Senate  as  to  pluck  a  con- 
script father  by  the  beard.  The  hoary-headed  patriot, 
fired  at  the  indignity,  instantly  struck  the  intruder  to 
the  earth.  Worthy  of  a  deeper  reverence  is  he  who  has, 
even  with  his  own  life,  vindicated  the  sanctity  of  his  home 
and  the  insulted  honor  of  his  family.  "  Then,"  said  Judas 
Maccabeus,  "  it  is  better  for  us  to  die  in  battle  than  to  be- 
hold the  calamities  of  our  people  and  our  sanctuary." 
Tyrants  should  always  raise  up  heroes.  Such  men  as  Da- 
vid S.  Creigh  are  the  barriers,  the  rocks  that  limit  unjust 
aggression,  and  wicked  violence.  "  A  nation  of  free  men, 
sacramented  together,  a  joining  of  all  hands,  a  knitting  of 
all  hearts,  the  cry  of  the  valiant,  that  it  is  better  to  die ! 
These  make  the  boundaries  of  rapine  and  desolation  ;  at 
these  awful  signs  the  robbers  of  the  earth  are  appalled, 
and  dread  lest  they  should  have  provoked  mankind 
enough." 

And  now,  all  this  detestable  iniquity ;  this  dooming  to 
death  a  citizen  of  exalted  worth,  and  simply  because  he 
was  true  to  the  most  sacred  obligations  of  a  husband  and 
father  —  for  an  act  which  virtue  commends  from  one  end 
of  the  earth  to  the  other :  to  call  this  by  any  other  name 
than  murder  is  to  destroy  the  use  of  language,  and  con- 
found all  just  distinctions  among  men.  l^o  wonder  those 
soldiers  stood  aghast  at  the  crime,  and  called  it  by  its  right 
name  —  murder.  Ko  wonder  the  chaplain,  ]VIr.  Osborn, 
spoke  of  it  to  Xr.  Creigh's  venerable  pastor  in  terms  of 
abhorrence.  When  Hunter's  army,  in  their  flight  from 
avenging  justice,  were  passing,  like  vast  packs  of  famished 
wolves,  through  Greenbrier  county,  this  chaplain  called 
upon  Dr.  McElhenny  —  the  interview,  as  we  understand, 
having:  reference  to  the  traojical  fate  of  his  beloved  friend 
and  elder.     Upon  being  invited  at  its  close  to  partake  of 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.  419 

dinner,  (a  comfort  presumed  to  have  been  greatly  needed,) 
he  declined  the  hospitality,  saying  that,  '•'  after  what  had 
taken  place,  he  could  not  eat  in  a  Southern  man's  house ;  and 
that  Providence  had  seemed  to  be  against  them  ever 
since." 

It  will  be  a  comfort  to  remember  that  our  countryman 
and  brother  never  for  a  moment  cowered  before  the 
wretches  who  stained  their  hands  in  his  blood.  It  needed 
no  testimony  from  the  chaplain,  or  from  himself  to  assure 
US  of  this.  It  belonged  to  the  noble  nature  of  the  man,  to 
his  Christian  faith,  and  his  innocence  of  crime,  to  meet  the 
power  of  military  assassins  calmly,  firmly  —  hrs  trust  in 
God,  his  hope  in  heaven. 

A  large  and  happy  family,  a  wide  circle  of  devoted 
friends  are  deeply  stricken  by  this  event.  The  shock  upon 
the  public  mind  is  great.  If  this  admission  gratifies  the 
perpetrators  of  the  deed,  or  their  sympathizers,  let  them 
take  it  as  part  of  the  inheritance  of  those  who  "  enjoy  the 
pleasures  of  sin  for  a  season.'^  It  has  pleased  Him  whose 
"ways  are  past  finding  out,"  often  to  allow  His  best  peo- 
ple to  be  "  delivered  into  the  hands  of  wicked  men."  His 
own  most  holy  and  beloved  Son  was  not  an  exception. 
But  faith  assures  us  that  while,  to  our  apprehension,  He 
does  or  permits  many  things  strangely  and  darkly,  He 
really  and  ever  doeth  all  things  wisely  and  well. 

No  malice,  no  device,  in  the  mode  of  his  death,  can  cast 
the  faintest  stain  upon  his  good  name.  A  stain !  No,  the 
name  of  David  S.  Creigh  is  from  this  day  sacred  to  hia 
country,  sacred  in  its  history.  The  spot  where  he  met  his 
fate  shall  be  marked  for  the  reverence  of  generations  co 
come.  And  a  public  monument  by  the  graves  of  his  kin- 
dred shall  attest  the  admiration  of  his  country  for  a  man 
whose  crowning  honor  it  is,  that  by  Federal  authority  he 
was  martyred  for  defending  his  own  home  from  plunder, 
his  own  family  from  insult,  and  his  own  life  from  violence. 
"  The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed." 


420  DAVID  S.  CREIGU,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

^^  But  the  name  of  the  wicked  shall  rot."  The  justice  of 
this  world  (let  the  slumbering  vengeance  of  God  rest  in 
His  own  hands)  will  have  an  account  with  the  Federal  Gen- 
eral, David  Hunter,  of  Princeton,  JSTew  Jersey.  He  is  the 
guilty  wretch  whose  hands  chiefly  are  red  with  the  blood 
of  this  innocent  man.  We  shall  advert,  for  a  moment 
only,  to  a  name  so  justly  hateful  to  the  South  —  soon  to 
become  loathsome  over  the  world. 

Of  a  parentage  and  training  hopeful  of  better  results, 
Satan  has  perverted  him  into  one  of  the  most  fanatical, 
malignant,  of  deep-dyed  Abolitionists.  Witness  his  con- 
duct and  despatches  while  bearing  military  rule  uj^on  the 
coast  of  South  Carolina. 

Of  an  honored  ancestry  in  Yirginia,  his  base  nature 
revels  upon  her  soil  in  the  worst  crimes  known  among 
men.     Well  attested  facts  brand  him  — 

First,  as  a  cold-blooded  murderer.  He  was  the  Federal 
military  commander  for  Western  Yirginia.  Mr.  Creigh 
was  executed  by  his  authority. 

Second,  as  an  incendiary.  It  was  by  his  order  the  torch 
was  applied  to  the  house  of  his  kinsman,  Andrew  Hunter, 
Esq.,  of  Charlestown,  and  to  the  house  of  ex-Gov.  Letcher, 
of  Lexington,  both  private  property.  The  full  impression 
of  the  enormity  of  this  wickedness  cannot  be  reached 
without  reading  the  letter  of  Governor  Letcher. 

Third,  as  a  liar.  Witness  his  treachery  in  violating  his 
explicit  promise  of  protection  to  Mrs,  Letcher,  up  to  the 
very  moment  he  poured  camphene  into  her  bureau,  and 
set  her  house  in  flames,  as  she  struggled  in  vain  to  rescue 
a  scanty  supply  of  raiment  from  destruction.  It  was  only 
what  might  be  expected  that  one  so  lost  to  all  sense  of  shame 
should,  as  soon  as  first  confronted  by  an  equal  force  at 
Lynchburg,  turn  and  run  like  a  coward  to  the  Ohio  j  and 
at  a  moment  when  famine  and  flight  over  more  than  two 
hundred  miles  of  mountain-wilderness  had  well  nigh  an- 
nihilated his  army,  telegrai)hed  to  Washington  that  his 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.  421 

expedition  had  been  eminently  successful !  that  his  troops 
were  in  fine  spirits,  and  after  a  few  days'  rest  would  be 
ready  for  any  service  needed  !  "  Ye  are  of  your  father, 
the  devil,  and  the  lusts  of  your  father  ye  will  do.  He 
was  a  murderer  from  the  beginning,  and  abode  not  in  the 
truth,  because  there  is  no  truth  in  him.  When  he  speak- 
eth  a  lie^  he  speaketh  of  his  own :  for  he  is  a  liar,  and  the 
father  of  it." 

Miserable,  degraded  creature !  It  may  be  that  no  aveng- 
ing hand  of  man  shall  strike  you  with  death.  But  you 
do  well  to  remember  what  a  mother's  catechism  taught 
you  out  of  the  Scriptures,  that  God  will  not  suffer  trans- 
gressors "  to  escape  his  righteous  judgment."  _ 

In  the  meantime  you  are  to  go  forth  with  a  mark  upon 
your  forehead  deep  as  that  upon  Cain.  From  this  day, 
the  world  over,  the  place  of  Hunter ^  the  Murderer^  is  by 
the  side  of  Butler^  the  Beast. 

p.  s. —  The  following  is  a  copy  of  a  paper  found  in  Mr. 
Creigh's  pocket-book,  and  sent,  with  other  things,  by  the 
chaplain,  to  Mrs.  Creigh  : 

"  Charges  and  specifications  against  David  S.  Creigh  : 
"Charge  —  Murder.     Specification:  That  on  or  about 
the  8th  of  November,  1863,  the  same  Creigh  killed  a  sol- 
dier in  his  house,  dressed  in  Federal  uniform,  name  un- 
known. 

"  Signed,  A.  Myers,  Provost  Marshal.'' 

Mr.  Creigh's  age  was  about  fifty-four,  and  he  was  the 
father  of  eleven  living  children. 

PROCEEDINGS    OF  THE    SESSION    OF    THE    LEWISBURG    CHURCH. 

At  a  meeting  of  the  Session  of  the  Lewisburg  Church, 
on  the  4th  of  July,  1864  — 

Present  —  Rev.  John  McElhenny,  T>.  D.,  Moderator  ; 
Rev.  J.  C.  Barr,  Assistant  Pastor ;  Sam'l  Price,  Chas  L. 


422        DAVID  S.  CREIGH,  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR. 

Peyton,   Thomas  Matthews,  James    Withrow,    Mark   L. 
Spotts,  and  James  N.  Montgomery,  Elders. 

The  committee  appointed  to  prepare  resolutions  com- 
memorative of  our  brother,  David  S.  Creigh,  made  the 
following  report,  which  was  unanimously  adopted : 

Whereas,  By  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence, we  are  called  upon  to  mourn  the  death  of  a  brother 
in  the  Eldership,  David  S.  Creigh,  Esq.,  who  was  called 
out  of  existence  under  most  distressing  circumstances,  on 
the  11th  day  of  June,  1864,  near  Brownsburg,  Eockbridge 
county,  Virginia. 

1.  Resolved^  That,  as  the  deceased  was  born  and  raised 
in  this  village,  and  had  spent  his  whole  life  among  us,  we 
had  peculiar  opportunities  of  knowing  him  in  all  the  rela- 
tions of  life.  To  a  lofty  integrity,  he  joined  an  unswerving 
truth  ;  to  the  noble  qualities  of  a  gentleman,  he  added  the 
noble  qualities  of  a  Christian.  These  he  illustrated  in  his 
daily  walk  and  conversation.  He  had  many  friends  and 
few  enemies,  because  he  was  emphatically  a  Christian  gen 
tleman. 

2.  Resolved,  That  the  loss  of  such  a  citizen  and  brother 
would,  under  any  circumstances,  be  most  keenly  felt ;  but 
the  tragic  end  he  suffered,  adds  peculiar  anguish  to  the 
pain  the  event  has  inflicted. 

3.  Resolved,  That  we  have  the  most  satisfactory  evidence 
of  his  preparation  for  death,  furnished  us  not  only  by  his 
Christian  life  of  piety  and  zeal,  but  the  unshaken  confi- 
dence in  his  Eedeemer,  and  that  blessed  peace  of  mind  with 
which  he  met  death.  The  letter  which  he  wrote  to  his 
family  in  his  last  hours,  as  well  as  the  testimony  of  the 
chaplain  and  others,  that  were  witnesses  of  the  terrible 
tragedy,  assure  us  that  he  was  sustained  by  an  unfaltering 
trust  in  his  covenant-keeping  Grod,  and  the  hope  of  a  glo- 
rious immortality.  And  although  we  cannot  understand 
the  mysterious  Providence  by  which  a  citizen  of  such  ele- 


DAVID  S.  CREIGH;  THE  WEST  VIRGINIA  MARTYR.       423 

vated  character,  a  Christian  of  such  a  blameless  life,  and 
an  officer  so  useful  in  the  Church,  should  be  cut  down  un- 
der circumstances  so  appalling,  yet  our  faith  teaches  us  to 
wait  the  issues  of  Him  who  does  all  things  well  for  His 
people. 

4.  Resolved,  That  we  tender  to  his  bereaved  family  our 
tenderest  sympathy  in  this  heart-rending  affliction,  and 
request  the  Clerk  of  the  Session  to  furnish  Mrs.  Creigh 
with  a  copy  of  these  resolutions. 
By  order  of  the  Session, 

James  N.  Montgomery,  Clerk. 

MURDER    OF   DAVID  S.    CREIGH,  OF   GREENBRIER,  BY    HUNTER. 

The  following  is  the  action  of  the  County  Court  of 
Greenbrier,  in  regard  to  the  brutal  murder  of  this  esti- 
mable gentleman  by  the  savage,  Hunter; 

Virginia :  At  a  court  held  for  G-reenbrier  county,  at  the 
Court  House  thereof,  on  Monday,  the  25th  day  of  July, 
1864— 

Ordered,  That  the  following  preamble  and  resolutions 
be  spread  upon  the  record  : 

Whereas,  In  His  mysterious  providence,  Cod  has  per- 
mitted our  fellow-citizen  and  colleague,  David  S.  Creigh,  to 
be  torn  from  his  home  and  friends,  and  put  to  death  by  a 
ruthless  enemy,  being  denied  the  presence  and  advice  of  his 
family  or  friends  before  the  midnight  tribunal  that  wrested 
him  from  us,  having  no  one  permitted  to  appear  in  his  be- 
half, no  evidence  allowed  him  in  defence  of  the  charge 
against  him,  and  even  refused  the  burial  rights  accorded 
to  the  most  degraded  of  mankind :  Therefore, 

1.  Resolved,  That  in  the  County  Court  of  Greenbrier,  in 
regular  session,  in  behalf  of  the  people  of  the  county,  and 
as  associates  of  David  S.  Creigh,  express  and  record  the 
proceedings  in  his  case,  as  unprecedented,  unlawful,  un- 


424  THE  prisoner's  dream. 

just  and  inhuman,  wholly  and  entirely  incompatible  with 
the  course  and  usages  of  all  civilized  men  or  governments. 

2.  Resolved,  That  we  bear  our  testimony  to  the  distin- 
guished worth  of  our  late  associate  on  the  bench,  to  his 
high  character  and  standing  in  all  the  relations  of  life  ; 
possessing  a  sound  judgment  and  intelligent  mind,  a  lofty 
integrity  that  nothing  could  bend  from  the  path  of  duty 
and  rectitude,  together  with  the  highest  qualities  of  a 
Christian  gentleman,  was  fitted  in  every  way  for  rendering 
distino-uished  service  as  a  citizen.  As  a  faithful  and  lonsr- 
tried  member  of  this  Court,  we  cherish  for  his  memory  the 
most  respectful  regard  and  warmest  affection. 

3.  Resolved,  That  we  tender  our  deepest  sympathies  to 
his  bereaved  wife  and  children,  to  whom  he  was  the  best 
of  husbands  and  the  most  affectionate  and  considerate  of 
fathers. 

4.  Resolved,  That  a  copy  of  these  resolutions  be  sent  to 

his  bereaved  family,  and  that  they  be  published  in  the  Eich- 

mond  and  Lynchburg  papers. 

A  copy  —  test : 

Joel  McPherson,  Clerh 


C^^  prisoner's  grtam. 


BY  COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


I  DREAMED  'twas  the  Sabbath  day,  Letitia, 

The  sky  serene  and  blue. 
And  Peace  smiled  on  our  land,  Letitia, 

Land  of  the  brave  and  true. 

We  sat  in  the  old  stone  church,  Letitia;j 
Each  in  a  sej)arate  pew ; 


THE  prisoner's   DREAM.  425 

As  we  sat  in  the  "  long  ago,"  Letitia, 
When  I  was  courting  you. 

Yonr  glance  was  downward  cast,  Letitia, 

Your  eyes,  so  softly  blue, 
Shone  not  as  once  they  shone,  Letitia, 

Bright  sparkling  as  the  dew. 

And  I  thought  that  I  could  trace,  Letitia, 

A  shade  of  saddest  hue. 
Steal  o'er  your  artless  face,  Letitia, 

That  falsehood  never  knew. 

I  wondered  if  your  thoughts,  Letitia, 

Like  mme,  had  backward  flown, 
To  days  when  only  flowers,  Letitia, 

Were  in  your  pathway  strewn. 

I  wondered  ('twas  very  wrong,  Letitia, 

Such  light  thoughts  in  a  pew,) 
If  you  e'er  indulged  a  wish,  Letitia, 

I  had  not  married  you. 

Or  if  you  queried  much,  Letitia, 

(A  heavy  sigh  you  drew,) 
*'  Would  I  go  courting  again,  Letitia, 

If  I  were  rid  of  you  ?  " 

While  thus  I  sat  and  mused,  Letitia, 

Forgetting  "  Father  Mac,"  * 
You  turned  —  a  glance  you  threw,  Letitia, 

That  set  me  all  aback. 

For  your  warm,  bright  smile  met  mine,  Letitia, 
And  quick  as  lightning  flew 

*  Rev.  John  McElhenny,  now  in  his  87th  year,  and  who  has  presided 
over  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  Lewisburg,  \V.  Va.,  5V  years.  The  term 
used  is  not  uncommon  among  those  who  attend  his  ministry,  and  is  one 
of  aflfection  rather  than  disrespect. 


426  THE  prisoner's  dream. 

To  me  the  thoughts  that  were  yours,  Letitia, 
As  quickly  mine  to  you. 

The  effect  was  lightning-quick,  Letitia, 
And  thrilled  me  through  and  through  ; 

You  smiled  —  I  laughed  aloud,  Letitia, 
And  roused  all  "  Number  Two."  * 

Alas,  gone  was  the  spell,  Letitia, 
Sweet  dream  of  love  and  home ! 

For  far  from  you  to-day,  Letitia, 
These  prison  bounds  I  roam. 

'Tis  a  bright,  sweet  Sabbath  morn,  Letitia, 

And  in  the  old  church  gray, 
Sad  and  forlorn  you'll  sit,  Letitia, 

And  think  of  me  to-day. 

You  will  think  of  "  auld  lang  syne,"  Letitia. 

A  fancied  voice  of  yore 
Will  music  make  in  your  heart,  Letitia, 

Like  waves  make  on  the  shore. 

You'll  feel  a  painful  throb,  Letitia, 

There  in  your  mother's  pew  ; 
And  tears  will  spring  unbid,  Letitia, 

Wrung  from  your  heart  so  true. 

For  I  may  not  sit  again,  Letitia, 
With  you  in  the  old  church  gray; 

Nor  have  your  sunny  smile,  Letitia, 
More  on  my  weary  way. 

But  there  is  a  blessed  clime,  Letitia, 

Far  from  this  world  of  woe. 
Where  fadeless  flowers  bloom,  Letitia, 

And  ceaseless  fountains  flow. 


*  The  room  of  the  writer  in  the  prison  at  Johnson's  Island. 


AN   INVOCATION. 

Where  prison-circling  waves,  Letitia, 

Break  not  upon  the  shore  ; 
Where  peace  shall  ever  reign,  Letitia, 

And  men  *'  learn  war  no  more." 

There  the  wicked  trouble  not,  Letitia, 

In  that  fair  clime  so  blest ; 
There  the  parted  loved  ones  meet,  Letitia, 

And  there  the  weary  rest. 
Johnson's  Island,  Nov.  1864. 


427 


%n  Intoratbtt, 


BY   COL.    W.    S.    HAWKINS. 


Come  thou  sweet  friend,  and  cheer  awhile 
The  brooding  gloom  of  prison  walls, 
Where  thought  repressed  to  sorrow  calls, 

And  even  joy  forgets  to  smile. 

Five  weary  moons  have  waxed  and  waned 
Since  I  was  free  —  you  know  how  free  ; 
I  hardly  dreamed  such  time  would  be. 

Ere  I  once  more  my  hope  had  gained. 

Pive  dullest  moons,  in  which  I  saw 
The  winter  pause  in  northward  flight," 
Spread  seven  times  his  robes  of  white. 

And  then  give  way  to  April's  thaw. 

Next  came  the  hours  when  earth  was  green, 
You  said  —  for  these  sad  eyes  could  not 
See  anywhere  a  garden  spot, 

Nor  look  on  any  sylvan  scene. 


428  AN  INVOCATION. 

Then  April,  tired  of  shine  and  shower, 

Awoke  the  fair  and  lissome  May; 

In  dusky  dell  she  slumberous  lay, 
And  every  feature  seemed  a  flower. 

With  smiles  she  came,  and  blithe  birds  sang, 
And  60  a  myriad  swelliug  throats 
Poured  forth  their  chime  of  grateful  notes, 

And  with  sweet  trills  the  woodlands  rang. 

And  next  was  June,  in  stately  pride  ; 

Love's  countersign  she  knoweth  well; 

She  is  Time's  fairest  sentinel, 
With  ruddy  cherubs  by  her  side. 

Thou  dainty  May,  more  strong,  more  dear. 
To  prouder,  truer  glories  born. 
The  ripening  fruit,  the  springing  corn  — 

June  is  my  month,  of  all  the  year ! 

Your  life  with  pleasure  ripples  now  ; 
For  you  can  go  each  dewy  morn, 
Spring's  daintiest  picture  you  adorn, 

And  watching  o'er  the  mountain's  brow, 

Can  see  earth  deck  her  graceful  form, 
And,  bird-like,  don  her  best  array 
To  meet  her  winsome  lord,  the  day. 

And  all  her  face  with  blushes  warm, 

Mantles  and  glows  to  perfect  life. 

As  sun-light  swells  with  radiant  surge, 

And  from  your  mind  sweet  thoughts  emerge— 

Your  mind,  with  fond  love  thinkings  rife. 

'Tis  yours  to  see  the  great  trees  toss 
Their  heads,  and  sportiveness  employ. 
And  shake  at  every  gust  with  joy, 

Their  broad  leaves  flecked  with  green  and  gloss. 


AN   INVOCATION.  429 

And  you  can  hear  the  jubilant  strain, 
When  tuneful  bird  on  wing  that  whirrs 
The  summer  drowsy  stillness  stirs, 

And  throbbing  echoes  sing  again. 

And  watch  the  days  in  joy  arrayed, 

Each  tripping  coyly  in  its  path, 

Like  Beauty  dripping  from  her  bath, 
Far  seen  thro'  woodland's  glinting  shade. 

'Tis  yours  to  linger  by  the  stream. 

And,  looking  in  the  pool's  deep  breast. 
To  see  your  beauties  all  confessed — 

How  like  indeed  to  poet's  dream  ; 

'Tis  yours,  my  glorious  Passion  flower ! 

At  this  sweet  season  to  appear 

Like  maiden  from  enchanted  mere. 
And  bless  for  me  each  tardy  hour. 

So  rose  a  JS'aiad  from  the  Avave, 
That  parted  to  her  wounded  form, 
And  soothed  with  loveliness  the  storm. 

And  to  the  fount  new  beauty  gave. 

So  some  magician's  mystic  might 

Evoked  from  out  his  mirror's  face 

A  shape  so  luminous  with  grace. 
That  all  his  darkened  vow  was  light. 

There  is  no  gracious  Naiad  here, 

Nor  have  I  mirror  wondrous  fine  ; 

But  I  have  thee,  sweet  friend  of  mine. 
To  help  me  with  thy  influence,  dear. 

'Tis  mine,  through  thee,  to  see  the  Spring, 

And  feel  its  odorous  happy  thrills  ; 

With  thee  go  up  the  wooded  hills, 
And  hear  the  choirs  of  nature  sing. 


430  AN  INVOCATION. 

'Tis  mine  to  dream  my  pains  away, 
And  with  thy  helping,  oft  renew 
The  pleasures  I  would  share  with  you, 

Of  blooming  June — of  vanished  May. 

But  no  such  scenes  my  vision  greet, 

Pent  up  when  glares  the  white-washed  wall, 
Where  summer's  sultriest  glances  fall. 

And  bare  lies  all  the  beaten  street. 

O  narrow  wall !  how  oft  the  tread 
Of  captive  forms,  that  knew  no  rest, 
On  all  your  grassless  length  has  pressed. 

And  every  step  kept  time  with  dread. 

Por  here  at  silent  hour  of  eve. 

And  in  the  depths  of  starless  gloom, 
Dead  hopes  come  forth  from  out  their  tomb, 
•  The  prisoner's  heart  to  haunt  and  grieve. 

O  bounded  sky !  what  weary  eyes 

A  thousand  times  have  looked  to  you, 
As  with  each  slow  hour  trouble  grew, 

And  life  put  on  a  sombre  guise. 

Ah,  deep  and  distant  skies  of  June, 
Which  erst  I  saw  when  I  was  free ! 
Why  come  ye  not  once  more  to  me 

With  gorgeous  sun  and  tender  moon  ? 

'Tis  not  yon  sky,  my  June,  that  bends 
Above  me  now  its  narrow  arc. 
Whose  very  brightness  seemeth  dark. 

Whose  noon-day  gleam  with  mid-night  blends. 

For  here,  there  sings  no  summer  bird, 
No  sights  of  dewy  freshness  come, 
No  flowers  smile,  no  wild  bees  hum, 

E'en  fancy's  face  with  tears  are  blurred. 


AN  INVOCATION.  431 

Here  gloom  and  glee  make  wondrous  strife  ; 

The  brightest  days  are  cast  with  cloud  j 

The  infant  hope  soon  finds  a  shroud, 
And  sorrow  ploughs  the  fields  of  life. 

Though  in  the  past  I  bind  my  sheaves, 

The  songs  of  olden  times  are  missed ; 

]^o  ivory  keys  with  fingers  kissed, 
For  memory  all  my  music  weaves. 

Life's  first  sweet  notes  for  me  are  gone  ; 

As  by  the  sea  some  wandering  child 

Goes  near  the  surges  lashing  wild. 
And  seeks  with  eagerness  the  tone. 

That  thrilled  with  joy  his  dreamy  ear, 
But  only  finds  the  curling  wave 
And  whispering  shell,  his  music's  grave, 

And  lures  its  sigh  so  far,  so  near. 

Then  lost  in  that  faint  phantom  charm. 
The  elfin  sounds  of  never  more, 
Tho'  dangerous  billows  beat  the  shore. 

Stands  heedless  of  their  power  to  harm. 

And  yet  some  pleasures  still  remain 

Forever  in  this  living  tomb, 

Some  joys  their  little  lights  relume. 
And  fainting  hopes  rise  firm  again. 

For  when  I  hear  each  thundering  gun 

That  shakes  Virginia's  forests  far, 

AVhere  whilom  friends  in  fury  war, 
Each  throb  to  me  means  victory  won. 

I  think  of  volleying  musketeers 

That  form  along  the  Georgian  vales. 
Where  no  heart  quakes,  no  spirit  fails. 

And  fling  away  my  qualmish  fears. 


432  AN  INVOCATION. 

So  after  many  a  weary  day, 

Some  swimmer  in  the  swirling  sea, 
Where  only  skies  and  surges  be. 

Through  the  horizon  dim  and  gray, 

Sees  break  at  last  the  gradual  morn, 
Just  as  his  strength  almost  gives  out, 
And  jeering  ocean-creatures  shout. 

And  in  him  ghastly  fear  is  born  ; 

Sees  far  away  the  dim  shore-line 
Over  the  hurtling  waters  loom, 
And  all  his  being  burst  in  bloom, 

As  forests  wave  and  cities  shine ; 

And  almost  hears  each  hurrying  friend, 
With  eager  questioning  of  the  lost 
So  long  by  crested  billows  tost, 

And  shouts  of  joy  the  zenith  rend. 

Thus  I  revive ;  but  feel,  dear  one. 
That  whether  on  the  land  or  sea. 
And  I  in  camps  or  prison  be, 

Thy  star  shall  shine  till  life  is  done. 

Come,  then,  and  tint  these  darker  days. 
And  let  each  sun  in  gold  go  down  ; 
Come,  crown  me  with  the  friendship's  crown, 

And  take  these  feeble  words  of  praise. 

Touch  all  my  life  with  thy  soft  kiss. 

At  that  sweet  thought  the  shadows  fly ; 

And  fostering  it,  I  feel  that  I 
Thy  form  in  heavenly  courts  would  miss. 

"Mi  Consuelo,"  true  and  bright. 

When  thou  art  gone  my  peace  is  furled. 
And  daylight  shuts  along  the  world. 

And  round  me  falls  the  brooding  night. 


LIEUT.    J.    E.    DOOLEY,    OF    VIRGINIA.  43 

'Tis  thine  to  ease  this  crown  of  thorn, 
And  pour  some  wine  in  misery's  cup  ; 
Help  weak  hope,  build  her  towers  up. 

And  light  my  prison  world  with  morn. 

And  when  the  immortal  shore  we  tread, 

Together  shall  we  join  our  strains. 

Together  roam  those  shining  plains, 
Where  God's  eternal  peace  is  shed. 


Q 


Lieut.  John  E.  Dooley  was  born  at  Richmond,  Va.,  July  llth,  1842. 
He  was  in  the  twentieth  year  of  his  age  when  he  entered  the  Confederate 
army.  He  joined  Company  D.,  of  the  First  Virginia  Infantry,  as  a  private, 
and  was  promoted  for  gallant  conduct  in  the  second  battle  of  Manassas, 
where  he  rescued  his  wounded  Colonel  (the  gallant  Fred.  Skinner,)  whom 
he  had  closely  followed  in  a  daring  charge  against  a  Federal  Battery,  which 
was  taken  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  He  was  engaged  in  all  the  princi- 
pal battles,  from  the  fights  around  Richmond  in  1862,  to  that  at  Gettys- 
burg, in  July,  1863.  In  the  last  named  battle,  he  was  shot  through  his 
thighs,  and  left  for  dead  upon  the  field.  Falling  into  the  hands  of  the 
Federals,  he  was  first  conveyed  to  Fort  McHenry,  thence  to  Camp  Chase, 
and  finally  to  Johnson's  Island,  where  he  remained  until  March,  1865,  when 
he  was  released  upon  parole.  Being  at  Lynchburg,  Va.,  at  the  time  of  Gen. 
Lee's  surrender,  he  started  on  foot  to  join  Gen.  Joe  Johnston's  command  ; 
but  finding,  after  he  had  traveled  the  entire  distance,  that  Gen.  Johnston 
had  also  surrendered,  he  again  took  up  his  line  of  march,  still  on  foot,  for 
the  Trans-Mississippi ;  but  soon  learning  the  fate  of  the  Confederacy  in 
that  quarter,  he  returned  to  his  home,  and  shortly  after,  in  pursuance  of  a 
determination  formed  before  the  beginning  of  the  war,  he  entered  the 
Jesuit  Society,  and  is  now  qualifying  himself  to  perform  the  duties  de- 
volving upon  him  as  one  of  the  order. 
-       19 


434  LIEUT.    J.    E.    DOOLEY,    OF  VIRGINIA. 

THE  DEATH  OF  WILLIA:\I  H.  MITCHEL, 

YOUNGEST   SON   OF   JOHN   MITCHEL,  THE  IRISH   PATRIOT   AND   EXILE,  —  KILLED 

AT  GETTY8BUEG. 


BY  LIEUT.  J.  E.  DOOLEY. 


So  bright  in  his  genius — so  bright  in  his  youth, 

Grone  to  his  grave  ! 
ISTo  sister  to  tend  him,  no  mother  to  soothe ; 

No  arm  to  save ! 

Eushing  to  victory,  cheering  he  fell, 

Gasping  for  breath, — 
Fell  'mid  the  cannon  and  shrill  bursting  shell, 

Showering  death  ! 

Faintly  he  heareth  the  cannon's  hoarse  roar  — 

Calmly  he  dies  ! 
Lies  on  the  battle-field  bathed  in  his  gore, 

Never  to  rise ! 

Still  'mid  confusion,  rout  and  dismay  — 

Still  in  Death's  arms  ! 
Closed  are  his  eyes  'neath  the  sun's  scorching  ray, 

Closed  to  Life's  charms ! 

Passing  from  earth,  in  the  morning  of  life, 

Sweetly  he  slumbered  ! 
Gone  to  his  God !     Never  more,  in  our  strife. 

Again  to  be  numbered ! 

Deep  buried,  beneath  red  Gettysburg's  plain. 

Weep  o'er  his  grave  ! 
Where  green  rustling  corn,  and  bright  yellow  grain, 

Murmuring  wave  ! 

Far  from  his  mother  and  sisters  he  died : 
Oh,  stranger  revere 


SENTINEL    SONGS.  435 

A  father  or  brother  iiDable  to  hide, 
Tears  they  shed  here  ! 

No  tall,  marble  shaft,  adorning  his  grave, 

Tells  of  his  fame  ; 
But  his  warrior  friends  lamenting  his  grave. 

Think  on  his  name  ! 

Fresh  be  his  mound !    Let  the  green  turf  be  spread, 

Fragrant  and  sweet! 
May  the  Angels  of  Heaven  pillow  his  head 

At  Jesus'  feet. 


^mtmd  Songs, 


BY  FATHER  RYAN. 


When  sinks  the  soldier  brave, 

Dead  at  the  feet  of  Wrong-, 
The  poet  sings  —  and  guards  his  grave 

With  sentinels  of  song. 

"  Go,  Songs  " — he  gives  command  — 
"  Keep  faithful  watch  and  true; 

The  living  and  dead  of  the  conquered  land, 
Have  now  no  guards  save  you." 

"  And  Ballads !  mark  ye  well, — 

Thrice  is  your  holy  trust ;    • 
Go  out  to  the  fields  where  warriors  fell. 

And  Sentinel  their  dust." 


436  SENTINEL    SONGS. 

And  the  songs,  in  stately  rhyme, 

With  softly  sounding  tread, 
March  forth  —  to  watch  till  the  end  of  time 

Beside  the  silent  dead. 

And  when  the  foeman's  host 

And  hate  have  passed  away, 
Our  guards  of  Songs  shall  keep  their  post 

Around  our  soldiers'  clay. 

A  thousand  dawns  may  glow, 

A  thousand  days  may  wane, 
The  deathless  songs  where  the  dead  lie  low, 

True  to  the  last,  remain. 

Yes,  true !    They  will  not  yield 

To  tyrants  or  to  time. 
At  every  grave  and  on  ev'ry  field. 

Where  men  die  deaths  sublime. 

Lone  vigils  they  will  keep. 

Obedience  to  their  Bard, 
And  they  will  watch  when  we  shall  sleep  — 

Our  last  and  only  Guard. 

What  though  their  victors  say, 

No  column  shall  be  built 
Above  the  graves  where  the  men  in  Grey 

Lie  mouldering  in  their  guilt  ? 

Ah  !  let  the  tyrants  curse 

The  dead  he  tramples  down  ! 
Our  strong,  brave  songs,  in  their  sweet  sad  verse, 

Fear  not  the  tyrant's  frown. 

What  though  no  sculptured  shaft 

Commemorate  our  Brave  ? 
What  though  no  monument  epitaphed 

Be  built  above  their  grave  ? 


CAPTAIN  S.  YATES  LEVY,  OF  FLORIDA.       437 

When  marble  wears  away, 

And  monuments  are  dust. 
The  Songs  that  guard  our  soldiers'  clay 

Will  still  fulfill  their  trust. 
Knoxville,  May  Gth,  1867. 


BY    MAJOR    S.   YATES   LEVY. 


Born  Sept.  14th,  1827,  at  Charleston,  South  Carolina,  his  paternal 
grandfather  was  a  Polander,  who  came  over  during  our  Revolutionary 
struggle.  His  grandmother  was  an  English  lady,  as  was  also  his  mother, 
who,  prior  to  her  marriage,  was  a  Miss  Yates,  of  Liverpool. 

He  graduated  at  South  Carolina  College,  Columbia,  in  184T.  He  quali- 
fied himself  for  the  practice  of  the  law  under  his  brother-in-law,  Hon.  P. 
Phillips,  of  Mobile,  Alabama,  was  admitted  to  the  bar  in  1849,  and  shortly 
afterwards  removed  to  Savannah,  Georgia.  He  was  successful  in  his  pro- 
fession, and  in  1852,  married  Miss  Myers,  of  Marietta,  Georgia.  In  1855 
he  wrote  "The  Italian  Bride,"  a  play  in  five  parts,  for  Miss  Eliza  Logan. 
It  was  successfully  acted  all  over  the  United  States. 

On  the  approach  of  the  war,  he  raised  a  volunteer  company,  (the  '*  City 
Light  Guard  of  Savannah,")  1st  Volunteer  Regiment  of  Georgia,  and  was 
mustered  into  the  Confederate  service  August  6,  1861.  He  was  employed 
in  various  duties  on  the  Georgia  coast,  principally  in  heavy  artillery,  was 
made  Judge- Advocate  of  General  Court  Martial,  and  was  twice  compli- 
mented for  efficiency  by  General  Beauregard,  in  General  Orders.  Grow- 
ing tired  of  such  service,  he  petitioned  to  be  sent  to  the  front,  and  was 
ordered  to  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston's  command,  then  falling  back  from 
Dalton,  Georgia.  He  participated  in  some  hard  fighting,  in  which  he  dis- 
played conspicuous  gallantry.  On  the  night  of  18th  June,  1864,  he,  with 
sixteen  others,  were  sent  out  on  picket  duty,  with  orders  to  hold  his  post 
to  the  last  extremity,  and  tight  every  inch  of  ground.     He  did  so.     The 


438       CAPTAIN  S.  YATES  LEVY,  OF  FLORIDA. 

army  fell  back,  the  skirmish  line  was  withdrawn  without  notice  to  Major 
Levy;  he  was  surrounded  and  captured.  His  commission  as  Major  was 
issued  on  the  daj  of  his  capture.  He  was  carried  to  Johnson's  Island, 
where  he  remained  until  the  close  of  the  war.  Upon  his  release,  he  re- 
turned to  Savannah,  where  he  resumed  the  practice  of  his  profession,  and 
is  meeting  with  marked  success.  In  politics,  Major  Levy  was  and  is  a 
Democrat  of  the  State  Rights  School. 

A  PEAYEE  FOE  PEACE. 


BY    MAJOR    S,    Y.    LEVY. 


Almighty  God  !  Eternal  Sire  and  King ! 

Euler  Supreme!  who  all  things  didst  create; 
Whose  everlasting  praise  the  Angels  sing  ; 

Whose  word  is  mercy,  and  whose  thought  is  fate ! 

Trembling  before  Thy  awful  throne  we  kneel, 
Beseeching  mercy  at  Thy  gracious  hand ; 

Praying  that  in  compassion  Thou  wilt  heal 

The  bleeding  wounds  of  this  most  suffering  land  ! 

We  know  our  sins  are  manifold,  O  Lord ! 

And  that  Thine  anger  'gainst  us  is  but  right ; 
For  we  have  wandered  widely  from  Thy  Word, 

And  things  committed  wrongful  in  Thy  sight. 

But  Thou,  O  Lord !  art  powerful  to  save. 
And  full  of  mercy  —  full  of  love  art  Thou ; 

Else  had  we  not  the  courage  thus  to  brave. 

Thy  righteous  wrath  —  thus  at  Thy  feet  to  bow  1 

O'er  all  our  fields,  where  late  the  joyous  air 
Struck  rustling  music  from  the  waving  grain, 

Xow  the  sad  earth  is  lying  stark  and  bare  — 
Or  groans  beneath  the  burden  of  our  slain. 

In  sack-cloth  robed,  disconsolate  and  wild. 
With  ashes  strewed  upon  her  lovely  breast, 


CAPTAIN    S.    YATES    LEVY,    OF    FLORIDA.  439 

Our  country  mourns  her  hearths  and  homes  defiled  — 
Weeps  for  her  bravest  and  bewails  her  best. 

From  many  hearths,  where  lately  genial  fires 
Beamed  over  scenes  of  innocent  delight, 

The  little  children  vainly  call  their  sires, 

Or  fly  their  burning  homes  with  wild  affright. 

Our  punishment  is  very  hard  to  bear ; 

We  droop  and  faint  beneath  our  chast'ning  rod ; 
Oh,  list  in  mercy  to  our  earnest  prayer, 

And  move  thine  anger  from  us,  O  our  God ! 

Throw,  Lord,  Thy  buckler  thick  'twixt  us  and  harm  ; 

Bid  the  destruction  and  the  carnage  cease ; 
Outstretch,  in  power.  Thine  all-protecting  arm  ; 

Eoll  back  the  clouds  of  war,  and  give  us  Peace ! 

And  as  Thou  led'st  Thy  chosen  people  forth 
From  Egypt's  sullen  wrath,  O,  King  of  Kings, 

So  smite  the  armies  of  the  giant  l^orth. 
And  bear  us  to  our  hopes  on  eagle's  wings  I 

But  if  Thy  wisdom  still  defer  the  day  — 

The  wished-for  day  our  freedom  shall  be  won  — 

Oh,  give  us  the  humility  to  say, 

"]N"ot  human  will,  but  Thine,  O  Lord,  be  done  I  " 


440  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 


J^^bmil  flolicg  anb  Hortljcnx  prisons. 

We  select  the  folio  win  2:  extracts  from  an  able  and  well 
written  article  which  first  appeared  in  the  Southern  Re- 
view. These  startling  revelations  and  the  recent  expose 
made  by  the  Commissioner  of  Exchange  for  the  Con- 
federate States,  taken  together,  throw  a  flood  of  light 
on  the  cruel  treatment  of  Confederate  prisoners  by  the 
Federal  authorities. — Ed. 

Some  years  have  elapsed  since  the  final  release  of  thou- 
sands of  men  who  had  been  made  prisoners  of  war  during 
the  long  continued  contest  between  the  North  and  the 
South.  Some  few  accounts  have,  from  time  to  time,  been 
published  of  the  treatment  of  Confederate  soldiers  in  par- 
ticular Northern  forts  and  prisons,  though  no  general  com- 
parison has  ever  been  made  of  the  condition  of  the  captives 
in  the  respective  prisons  of  the  then  existing  Governments. 
Southern  men  have  had  little  opportunity  to  defend  them- 
selves, and  the  Confederate  Government  has  ceased  to  be. 
No  occasion,  however,  has  been  neglected  and  no  means 
have  been  spared,  on  the  part  of  Northerners  and  of  the  Fed- 
eral administration,  to  vilify  the  South  and  to  cast  a  stigma 
on  the  name  of  its  most  irreproachable  men.  The  incidents 
of  the  trial  of  Captain  AYerze,  for  a  long  time  in  charge 
of  the  Andersonville  prison  in  Georgia,  by  a  military  com- 
mission in  \yashington  in  the  autumn  of  1865,  the  record 
of  which  has  been  carefully  preserved  and  widely  dissem- 
inated, afford  abundant  evidence  of  this  malignant  spirit. 
In  their  eagerness,  however,  to  condemn  others,  the  prin- 
cipal actors  in  this  Star  Chamber  trial  have  condemned 
themselves.  Their  wickedness  has  recoiled  on  their  own 
heads.  The  execution  of  Captain  Werze  was  a  disgrace 
to  the  administration  at  Washington.     It  must  forever 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  441 

remain  a  stain  upon  the  annals  of  the  age.  The  men  who 
sentenced  him,  Generals  Lew  Wallace,  Underwood,  Geary, 
Gershom,  Mott,  Thomas  and  others,  have,  together  with 
Colonel  Chipman,  the  Judge  Advocate,  rendered  their 
names  as  odious  as  that  of  the  infamous  Jeffries ;  and  the 
high  magistrate  who  approved  the  findings  of  the  court, 
and  permitted  its  execution,  was  himself  guilty  of  a  weak- 
ness that  was  wicked,  and  for  which  there  was  no  reason- 
able palliation. 

No  one  who  has  read  the  proceedings  in  this  infamous 
trial,  who  has  seen  how  one  indictment  was  deliberately 
altered,  after  being  systematically  prepared  and  regularly 
made,  without  any  notice  at  all  being  given  to  the  counsel 
for  the  defense  ;  who  has  noted  how  the  proceedings  were 
conducted  in  violation  of  all  law  and  precedent,  and  how 
the  counsel,  Messrs.  Hughes,  Denver,  and  Peck,  who  were 
first  retained,  withdrew  from  a  court  which  proceeded  in 
so  extraordinary  a  manner,  convinced  that  they  could  do 
justice  neither  to  their  client  nor  to  themselves ;  no  one 
who  has  noticed  how,  as  the  trial  proceeded,  nearly  every 
objection  on  the  part  of  Judge  Advocate  Chipman  was 
sustained,  and  nearly  every  objection  on  the  part  of  the 
prisoner's  counsel  was  overruled  ;  how  the  witnesses  on 
the  one  side  were  not  only  encouraged,  but  permitted  to 
introduce  hearsay  evidence,  and  even  to  testify  as  to  their 
impressions,  while  the  timid  witnesses  for  the  prisoner 
were  brow-beaten  and  bullied,  and  the  more  fearless  ones 
imprisoned,  and  not  allowed  to  testify  at  all,  and  how  ac- 
cess to  public  documents  was  denied  to  the  counsel  for  the 
defence,  and  accorded  to  the  prosecution  ;  no  one  who  has 
noted  these  things  can  honestly  doubt  for  one  moment  that 
this  friendless  man  was  condemned  from  the  hour  he  was 
arraigned.  The  cry  of  a  political  mob  was  yielded  to,  and 
he  was  given  up  a  victim  to  their  violence  and  brutality. 
*'  His  blood  be  upon  their  heads,  and  upon  their  children." 

Bat  behind  all  this  there  was  a  hidden  purpose  on  the 
19* 


442  FEDERAL   POLICY    AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS. 

part  of  the  administration,  which  it  failed  to  accomplish. 
The  real  object  of  the  trial  was  not  so  much  the  convic- 
tion of  Werze,  as  the  implication  of  Mr.  Davis  and  General 
Lee  in  an  imaginary  plot  to  torture  Federal  prisoners, 
to  withhold  from  them  clothing,  to  deprive  them  of  food, 
to  poison  them  with  foul  water,  and,  by  deliberate  and 
atrocious  barbarity  and  cruelty,  to  murder' them  as  rapidly 
as  possible.  The  utter  failure  of  this  design  can  excite 
no  surprise.  Even  the  bitterest  enemies  of  Mr.  Davis 
cannot  stain  his  name  with  such  reproach  as  this ;  and 
those  who  know  aught  of  General  Lee  can  but  smile  at 
such  an  attempt  to  defame  his  high  character. 

The  people  of  the  ]^orth  sought  to  subjugate  the  South, 
not  by  civilized  warfare,  but  by  savage  atrocity,  by  fire  as 
well  as  sword,  by  ruthless  cruelty  and  inhuman  torture. 
They  condemned  thousands  of  captive  men  to  months  of 
dreary  prison  confinement  for  the  purpose  of  draining  the 
life  from  the  South,  and  of  rendering  it  unable  to  do  battle 
against  the  North.  And  they  persisted  in  their  refusal  to 
exchange  prisoners  with  this  intention,  and  for  this  pur- 
pose. This  fixct  has  been  fully  confirmed  by  the  disclosure 
by  General  Butler  of  the  instructions  received  by  him 
from  General  Grant.  General  Grant  wrote  him  that  he 
was  determined  that  the  South  should  not  have  a  man, 
and  directed  him  to  make  any  pretext  he  chose,  but  on  no 
account  to  grant  an  exchange  of  prisoners. 

If  any  doubts  exist  on  this  subject  in  the  minds  of  im- 
partial men,  they  will  be  put  at  rest  by  the  testimony  of 
the  Confederate  Agent  of  Exchange,  whose  reputation  as 
a  high-toned  gentleman  is,  in  itself,  a  sufficient  guaranty 
of  the  truth  of  the  statement. 

In  January,  1864,   he  wrote  to  Major  General  E.  A. 
Hitchcock,  commissioner  of  exchange : 

"Inview^of  the  present  difficulties  attending  the  exchange 
and  release  of  prisoners,  I  propose  that  all  such  on  each  side 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  443 

Bliall  be  attended  by  a  proper  number  of  their  own  surgeons, 
who,  under  rules  to  be  established,  shall  be  permitted  to  take 
charge  of  their  health  and  comfort.  I  also  propose  that 
these  surgeons  shall  act  as  Commissaries,  with  power 
to  receive  and  distribute  such  contributions  of  money, 
food,  clothing  and  medicines  as  may  be  forwarded  for  the 
relief  of  prisoners.  I  further  propose  that  these  surgeons 
be  selected  by  their  own  Grovernment,  and  that  they  shall 
have  full  liberty  at  any  and  all  times,  through  the  Agents 
of  Exchange,  to  make  reports,  not  only  of  their  own  acts, 
but  of  any  matters  relating  to  the  welfare  of  the  prison- 
ers." 

"  To  this  communication  no  reply  of  any  kind  was  ever 
made.  I  need  not  state  how  much  suffering  and  misrep- 
resentation would  have  been  prevented,  if  this  offer  had 
been  met  in  the  spirit  in  which  it  was  dictated.  Just  one 
year  afterwards,  to  wit,  on  the  24th  of  January,  1865,  the 
proposition  was  renewed  to  Greneral  Grant,  but  no  notice 
was  taken  of  it  by  him. 

"  Before  the  battle  of  Grettysburg,  the  Confederates  held 
a  majority  of  prisoners,  and  continued  to  send  them  off  as 
fast  as  the  United  States  authorities  furnished  transporta- 
tion. After  that  time  the  Federals  had  a  majority,  and 
they  refused  to  deliver  according  to  the  requirements  of 
the  Cartel,  offering,  however,  to  exchange  officer  for  officer 
and  man  for  man,  thus  leaving  the  excess  in  confinement. 
This  was  resisted  by  the  Confederate  authorities,  as  being 
in  open  violation  of  the  Cartel,  until  about  the  summer  of 
1864,  when  the  latter  relinquished  their  rights  under  the 
Cartel,  and  offered  to  accept  the  proposition  of  the  ex- 
change of  officer  for  officer  and  man  for  man.  Thereupon 
the  Federal  authorities  retreated  from  their  offer  and  de- 
clined even  to  exchange  officer  for  officer  and  man  for  man. 
Under  this  latter  proposal,  quite  a  large  surplus  would 
have  remained  in  Northern  prisons,  owing  to  the  excess 
held  by  the  United  States.     In  this  state  of  affairs,  I  was 


444  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 

instructed  by  the  Confederate  authorities  to  offer  to  the 
United  States  government  their  sick  and  wounded,  with- 
out requiring  any  equivalents.  Accordingly,  in  the  sum- 
mer of  1864,  I  did  offer  to  deliver  from  ten  to  fifteen  thou- 
sand sick  and  wounded  at  the  mouth  of  the  Savannah 
Biver,  without  requiring  any  equivalents,  promising  the 
United  States  Agent,  that  if  the  number  for  which  he 
might  send  transportation  could  not  be  made  up  from  sick 
and  wounded,  I  would  supply  the  difference  with  well  men. 

"  Although  this  offer  was  made  in  the  summer  of  1864, 
transportation  was  not  sent  to  the  Savannah  River  until 
December,  and  then  I  delivered  as  many  prisoners  as  could 
be  transported,  amongst  which  were  more  than  five  thou- 
sand well  men.  Move  than  once  I  urged  the  mortality  of 
Andersonville,  as  a  reason  for  haste  on  the  part  of  the 
United  States. 

"  About  the  same  tiine  —  that  is,  in  the  summer  of  1864 
— the  Surgeon-General  of  the  Confederate  States  informed 
me  that  he  was  almost  entirely  destitute  of  medicines,  re- 
questing me  to  offer  to  make  purchases  of  medicines  from 
the  United  States  authorities,  to  be  used  exclusively  for 
the  relief  of  Federal  prisoners.  On  the  first  opportunity, 
I  did  make  such  proposal,  offering  to  pay  gold,  cotton,  or 
tobacco  for  them,  and  even  two  or  three  prices  if  required. 
At  the  same  time,  I  gave  assurances  that  the  medicines 
would  be  used  exclusively  in  the  treatment  of  Federal 
prisoners,  and  moreover  agreed,  if  it  was  insisted  on,  that 
such  medicines  might  be  brought  into  the  Confederate 
lines  by  United  States  surgeons  and  dispensed  by  them. 
To  this  offer,  like  unto  the  first,  I  never  received  any 
reply." 

In  every  large  prison  in  the  North,  cruelty  was  system- 
atically practiced  for  the  purpose  of  forcing  prisoners  to 
take  the  oath  of  allegiance  to  the  Federal  Government,  or 
in  case  of  their  refusal,  of  enfeebling  their  health  to  such 


FEDERAL    POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS.  445 

an  extent  as  to  render  them  unfit  for  military  service  on 
their  return  to  the  South.     During  the  trial  of  Captain 
Werze,  the  names  of  witnesses  were  handed  by  Mr.  Bak-'^ 
the  assistant  counsel,  to  the  Judge  Advocate,  to  be  '  ' 
moned  to  testify  in  behalf  of  the  prisoner.     It  was  i^'^  " 
ed  to  prove  by  them  what  was  the  customary  r  ^  ^ 
treatment  of  prisoners  in  the  Northern  forts.     ^    ^^ 
witness,  however,  appeared.     Since  the  close  of  ^^^       .  ' 
it  has  been  ascertained  that  the  subpcenas  fo^'^^^®  ^^  ' 
nesses  were  never  issued.     They  were  suppr'^        .^ 
Judge  Advocate.     It  was  not  proper  that  s^^  testimony 
should  see  the  light.     Judge  Advocate  Cb'^^^^  ^^^  ^^^^® 
publicly  admitted  that  he  also  refused  -"  ^^^^  subpcenas 
issued  for  a  few  "Eebel  "  Functionarif  ^^^^^^  testimony 
was  considered  important  for  the  r'^'ence.     How  many 
the  Judge  Advocate  considered  "  a  -^^  ''  it  is  hard  to  say. 
We  know,  however,  that  General  ^^e  was  among  them. 
His  name  had  been  stricken  fror  the  list  of  those  with 
whom  Captain  Werze  had  origir^%  ^een  accused  of  con- 
spiring.    He  must  have  been  regarded  as  a  perfectly  com- 
petent witness  by  any  court  in>-he  world,  and  his  evidence 
was  more  material  to  the  accused  than  that  of  all  the  other 
witnesses  together.     His  wo<l  would  have  been  believed 
in  the  jS^orth  as  well  as  in  th^  South.     The  Government  re- 
fused to  permit  him  to  testfy,  and  the  public  must  draw 
its  own  conclusions,  as  to  che  motives  by  which  it  was  in- 
fluenced.    There  were  evidently  considerations  of  import- 
ance which  rendered  it  impolitic  and  inexpedient  that  the 
truth  about  Andersonville  should  be  made  knowm. 

There  were  a  dozen  prisons  at  the  North,  in  either  one 
of  which  the  treatment  of  prisoners  was  utterly  disgrace- 
ful and  barbarous,  exceeding  in  tyrannical  cruelty  any- 
thing that  was  developed  in  the  Werze  trial,  even  upon 
the  testimony  of  government  w^itnesses.  No  tribunal  will 
ever  arraign  the  officers  who  committed  these  atrocities  ; 
no  judicial  sentence  will  ever  condemn  the  functionaries 


446  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS. 

\^\  ho  countenanced  and  a^jproved  them,  and  indeed  direct- 

their  perpetration.     Of  most  of  them  no  record  will 

*^ept.     It  is  diflScuit  now  to  get  the  brave  men,  who 

'ed  in  silence,  to  speak  of  the  treatment  which  they 

*^orced  to  undero:o,  as  it  deserves  to  be  spoken  of. 

ounts  from  all  these  prisons  are  much  the  same. 

e  systematic  torture  prevailed  in  every  one  of 

'  ^^the  sufferings  of  the   Southern  prisoners  were 

'^   ^  y  Tgravated  by  the  inhumanity  of  the  negro 

o         ^j  ^  Svere  in  most  instances  detailed  for  prison 
police  duty. 

e  ^^6rai\^j^jjj-g^j,^^-Qjj  ^^g  ;fi|ially  forced  to  yield 
to  the  clamor  ot  ^^  friends  of  the  captured  men,  and  to 
make   arrangemeLg   f^^  obtaining   their    release.      The 

exchanere   of    iirisrw^  j-     ^  j 

^  to      ^^     P^^s^rs    was    accordingly   recommenced 

y  m  ibbo.     JMost  f  d^q  Southern  prisoners,  some  of 

whom  had  been  confine^for  eighteen  months,  were  brought 

through   Pennsylvania  to   Baltimore,  to    be    shipped  to 

Fortress   Monroe.      On  reaching   Baltimore,   they   were 

taken  from  the  cars  on  V.he  outskirts  of  the  town  and 

marched  through  the  strees,  about  one  and  a  half  miles, 

to  the  point  of  embarkatior,     Speaking  of  the  condition 

of  these  Southern  prisoners ')f  war,  the  writer  says: 

February  21.  "  Prisoners  foi  exchange  continue  to  pass 
through.  They  are  in  a  most  i^retched  condition.  Pale 
and  emaciated,  they  look  as  if  th^y  had  hardly  strength 
to  stand.  Miss  B.,  who  saw  them  pass  by,  could  not  stand 
the  sight.  They  looked,  she  said,  as  if  they  hardly  had 
strength  to  hold  up  the  little  coin.  One  man  came  down 
the  street  a  few  days  ago,  clad  in  a  pair  of  drawers  and  a 
blanket.  Blood  marked  the  track  of  his  bare  feet.  Miss 
W.  appealed  to  one  of  the  officers  in  charge  for  permission 
to  give  him  some  clothing,  but  was  rudely  refused.  On 
the  boat  that  is  to  take  them  to  Fortress  Monroe,  they  are 
huddled  together  in  a  distressing  manner,  with  very  Httle 


FEDERAL    POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS.  447 

protection  agaiust  the  cold  and  driving  rain.  The  day  is 
as  bad  as  a  winter  da}''  can  be." 

February  23.  "  F.  B.  showed  me  to-day  a  letter  he  had 
lately  received  from  Col.  St.  Leger  Grenfell,  an  Englishman, 
formerly  on  Morgan's  staff,  confined  in  McLean  Barracks, 
Chicago,  and  which  reads,  'They  have  tried  hard  to  kill  me. 
I  have  suffered  much  from  long  continued  confinement  in 
a  cell  6  feet  by  3J,  ill  ventilation,  and  bad  food.  I  had 
the  dysentery  when  they  shut  me  up.  Yesterday  my 
manacles  were  knocked  off  for  the  first  time.' 

"  The  treatment  of  the  officers  and  men  under  General 
Morgan's  command  in  Ohio  was  infamous.  He  and  his 
officers  were  sent  to  the  State  penitentiary.  Each  of 
them  was  stripped  and  bathed  by  negroes,  and  had  his 
hair  cropped  close  by  negro  barbers.  They  were  not  al- 
lowed to  converse  with  each  other  even  while  sitting  side 
by  side  at  their  meals.  For  the  slightest  violation  of  any 
of  the  very  stringent  regulations  to  which  they  were  sub- 
jected, they  were  confined  in  dark  and  narrow  cells  for 
days.  So  severe  were  the  sufferings  of  some  of  those  who 
were  punished,  that  when  they  were  taken  from  the  cells 
the  blood  gushed  from  their  ears." 

February  26.  "  The  petty  malignity  and  dirty  trickery 
of  Federal  jailors  is  hardly  to  be  believed.  We  have  just 
received  news  of  the  disposition  of  the  Christmas  dinner 
which  was  provided  for  the  prisoners  in  the  hospital 
known  as  West's  Building.  Mrs.  G.,  Mrs.  H.,  and  other 
ladies,  knowing  how  meagre  was  the  fare  of  these  poor 
fellows,  applied  to  Gen.  Lew  Wallace  for  permission  to 
send  them  something  to  eat  on  Christmas  day.  Wallace 
refused  to  allow  them  to  communicate  with  the  pri- 
soners, but  gave  them  permission  to  furnish  what  food 
they  liked  for  this  occasion.  Several  loads  of  provisions, 
such  as  beef,  turkeys,  and  even  expensive  luxuries,  were 
according!}"  procured,  and  delivered  at  the  hospital  door. 
It  was  supposed  that  they  had  been  handed  over  to  the 


448  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS. 

prisoDers.  To-day,  one  of  them  who  is  out  brings  infor- 
mation that,  on  the  day  they  were  sent,  two  or  three  of 
the  prisoners  who  were  strong  enough  to  crawl  to  the  win- 
dows, saw  the  yard  lined  with  boxes  and  baskets  which 
they  felt  sure  were  intended  for  them.  Xot  one  ounce  of 
anything  reached  its  destination." 

March  1.  "  James  W.  Washington,  12th  Ya.  Cavalry, 
died  a  few  days  ago  in  Fort  McHenry,  where  Brigadier 
General  Morris  confines  the  prisoners  in  cells  about  6  feet 
long  and  2^  feet  wide.  It  is  inhuman  to  confine  a  felon 
in  such  cells.  Washington  was  stripped  of  his  clothing 
when  captured,  and  clad  in  a  summer  suit.  His  treatment 
was  so  bad,  and  his  sufferings  so  great,  that  he  lost  his 
senses  and  died." 

March  3.  "  The  condition  of  many  of  the  prisoners  who 
now  go  through  here  daily  for  exchange,  is  heart-rending. 
From  Elmira  down,  no  provision  is  made  for  food.  On 
several  occasions,  five  and  six  or  more  have  died  in  the 
cars  of  prostration." 

March  5.  "  Mr.  F.  H.  has  been  here  from  ISTew  York. 
He  was  very  kind  to  the  prisoners  in  Fort  Lafayette,  and 
is  now  attending  to  the  distribution  of  money  and  clothes 
from  the  English  fund  raised  at  the  Liverpool  Bazaar. 
He  had  no  conception  whatever  of  the  severity  and  bru- 
tality of  the  military  authorities  in  this  State,  so  little  is 
known,  even  in  New  York,  of  what  passes  here.  Any  pa- 
per which  attempted  to  publish  the  truth  would  not  be  al- 
lowed a  second  issue.  Yesterday,  Mr.  H.  went  to  see  the 
prisoners  as  they  were  being  marched  through  the  streets. 
He  was  not  allowed  to  approach  them,  and  was  driven 
back  several  times  with  the  bayonet,  although  he  told  the 
guard  he  was  from  the  North,  and  had  no  friends  or  ac- 
quaintances among  the  prisoners.  One  of  the  men  wrote 
on  a  piece  of  paper  which  he  contrived  to  throw  out, 
'  For  God's  sake  get  us  something  to  eat ;  we  are  starving.' 
Another  messac^e  of  the  same  kind  was  thrown  to  a  little 


FEDERAL   POLICY    AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  449 

boy  from  one  of  the  ambulances,  and  was  brought  to  Mr. 
H.  There  were  twenty-five  ambulances  with  the  sick. 
They  were  closed  in.  Several  prisoners,  who  were  too 
weak  to  stand  the  fatigue  of  the  journey  and  so  long  a 
fast,  were  already  dead.  ]S'o  one  was  allowed  to  give  a 
cup  of  cold  water  to  the  rest. 

"  S.  S.,  in  passing  through  here  from  Camp  Douglas, 
gives  a  description  of  prison  life  that  is  heart-rending ;  he 
says  that  1200  men  died  there,  not  one  of  whom  would 
have  lost  his  life  with  ordinarily  decent  care." 

March  11.  "  More  prisoners.  These  poor  fellows  are 
not  provided  with  food  on  the  cars.  They  remain  some- 
times as  long  as  two  days  without  anything  to  eat.  Mrs. 
E.  Gr.  saw  one  of  them,  as  they  passed  down  the  street, 
stoop  to  pick  up  some  garbage,  which  he  literally  devour- 
ed. She  had  in  her  pocket  a  small  bottle  of  mint  cordial. 
She  stepped  forward  to  the  guard  and  asked  him  to  give 
it  to  the  famishing  man,  who  seemed  scarcely  able  to  drag 
himself  along.  The  guard  struck  her  in  the  breast  with 
his  hand,  and  told  her  to  stand  off.  'That  is  all  you  are 
fit  for,'  said  she,  'to  make  war  against  women.'  A  few 
days  ago  the  guard  charged  with  fixed  bayonets  among 
some  ladies  who  attempted  to  relieve  the  wants  of  starv- 
ing fellow-creatures." 

March  12.  "  Miss  W.,  who  saw  the  prisoners  who  pass- 
ed through  yesterday,  was  horrified  at  the  inhuman  treat- 
ment they  received.  One  man  begged  the  guard  for  a 
morsel  of  bread.  He  was  brutally  refused.  He  lay  down 
and  died  in  a  short  time.  One,  who  was  in  a  car  which 
had  not  yet  been  opened,  attempted  to  raise  a  window 
'  Faugh,'  said  the  guard,  '  what  a  smell  of  small  pox.' 
'  Well  may  there  be  a  smell,'  was  the  reply,  '  there  are 
four  dead  bodies  in  here,  and  we  are  stifling  with  the  heat 
and  the  smell.  The  windows  are  all  down.  Give  us  air 
or  we  shall  suffocate.'  The  guard  closed  the  window  by 
force.     A  man  wounded  in  both  legs  was  being  supported 


450  FEDERAL    POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 

by  two  Confederate  surgeons,  who  carried  bim  towards  an 
ambulance.  The  guard  struck  him  twice  with  the  ba^'O- 
net,  ordering  him  to  move  on,  in  spite  of  the  remonstrances 
of  the  surgeons.  His  conduct  was  so  revolting  that  a 
Federal  surgeon  finally  noticed  it  and  commanded  him  to 
desist.     He  received,  however,  no  reprimand." 

March  29.  "  Heard  to-day  of  the  death  of  young  Ar- 
thur Gilmor.  He  passed  through  here  a  few  days  ago  for 
exchange.  He  had  then  chronic  dysentery  and  was  ex- 
ceedingly ill.  His  sister  saw  him,  and  every  effort  was 
made  to  obtain  permission  from  the  military  authorities 
to  have  him  placed  in  a  hospital  until  he  was  able  to 
stand  the  journey.  This  was  positively  refused,  unless  he 
would  consent  to  take  the  oath  of  allegiance,  although  he 
was  then  known  to  be  in  a  dying  condition.  He  did  not 
live  to  reach  the  Southern  soil.  The  process  of  exhaus- 
tion, as  practiced  by  the  administration,  has  been  terribly 
inhuman.  The  stoppage  of  the  exchange  of  prisoners  cut 
like  a  two-edged  sword  ;  for  at  Andersonville,  where  the 
Federal  prisoners  were  sent,  partly  for  safety  and  partly 
that  they  might  be  near  food  supplies,  the  Northern  con- 
stitution has  given  way  and  the  men  have  died  rapidly." 

These  few  extracts,  it  must  be  borne  in  mind,  tell  only 
a  portion  of  the  truth.  We  add  to  them  several  state- 
ments obtained  from  prisoners  soon  after  their  release 
from  the  different  ISTorthern  prisons  and  forts. 

S.  S.  writes  :  "  We  arrived  at  Camj)  Douglas.  Many  of 
us  were  without  blankets,  and  all  without  overcoats.  Al- 
though the  nights  were  already  cold,  the  authorities  re- 
fused to  furnish  either  blankets  or  overcoats.  In  Decem- 
ber we  were  stripped  of  the  overcoats  we  had  procured, 
the  officers  stating  as  an  excuse  that  they  might  assist  us 
in  making  our  escape.  Cotton  jackets  and  condemned 
Federal  coats  of  light  material,  with  the  skirts  cut  off, 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND   NORTHERN   PRISONS,  451 

were  issued  in  their  stead.  On  New  Year's  eve  snow  fell 
and  the  cold  became  intense.  'No  words  can  describe  the 
agony  we  endured  while  this  pinching  weather  lasted. 
There  were  large  crevices  on  the  sides  of  the  barracks, 
through  which  the  snow  drifted  in  upon  our  bunks. 
Icicles  hung  from  the  roof  within  two  inches  of  the  stove 
pipe,  and  the  breath  froze  upon  our  beards  as  it  left  our 
mouths.  Although  the  guards  were  well  clad  in  heavy 
overcoats  and  provided  with  furs  and  blankets,  some  of 
them  were  frost-bitten.  They  were  all  ordered  into  our 
quarters  at  dusk,  the  cold  being  too  severe  for  them  to  do 
duty  outside.  Our  own  sufferings  can  hardly  be  imag- 
ined. 

"  We  were  forced  to  be  economical  with  fuel,  as  we  did 
not  know  what  we  were  to  be  allowed,  and  we  were  al- 
most afraid  to  venture  out  into  the  air,  even  should  we 
receive  orders  to  go  for  wood  But  it  was  plain  that  we 
must  go  to  the  woodyard  or  freeze.  Few  of  those  who 
were  detailed  to  bring  in  fuel  returned  without  being 
frost-bitten  or  frozen.  Many  were  brought  back  insen- 
sible or  in  a  helpless  condition.  Four  of  my  company 
started  for  our  allowance.  All  suffered  extremely.  Two 
of  them  could  not  speak  on  their  return.  One  of  them 
had  to  be  carried  into  an  adjoining  barrack.  Another  had 
his  arms  frozen  stiff  around  the  wood  and  could  not  open 
them.  Going  after  water  was  nearly  as  bad.  Many  died 
from  exposure  this  winter.  Pneumonia,  colds  and  rheu- 
matism became  very  common. 

"  Our  rations  at  first  were  amj^le,  and  aided  us  greatly  in 
contending  with  the  cold.  Afterwards  they  were  cut  down 
fearfully,  and  living  was  reduced  to  a  science.  There  are 
no  words  to  describe  our  sufferings.  It  was  terrible  to  go 
to  bed  suffering  from  the  gnawings  of  hunger.  Eats  and 
dogs  were  luxuries.  The  former  were  frequently  eaten  in 
prison. 

"  Many  modes  of  cruelty  and  punishment  were  inflicted 
upon  us  during  the  administration  of  Col.  Charles  Y.  Do 


452  TEPERAL   POLICY  AND   NORTHERN  PRISONS. 

Land,  and  also  during  that  of  Col.  B.  J.  Sweet.  "We  were 
tied  up  by  the  thumbs  for  attempting  to  escape.  We  were 
beaten  by  the  guards  with  heavy  sticks  for  the  slightest 
offence,  and  often  for  nothing  at  all.  We  were  ridden 
upon  'Morgan's  mule;'  that  is,  we  were  forced  to  strad- 
dle a  narrow  scantling,  placed  high  above  the  ground,  not 
being  permitted  to  derive  any  support  from  our  hands. 
We  were  placed  in  this  position  at  the  bidding  of  the 
guard,  and  kept  there  at  his  pleasure,  from  ten  minutes  to 
two  hours.  We  were  taken  out  into  the  cold  and  forced 
to  mark  time  for  standing  too  long  near  the  fire.  The 
guards  frequently  became  intoxicated,  and,  while  they 
were  in  this  condition,  were  permitted  to  inflict  punish- 
ments for  imaginary  offences.  The  prisoners  in  barrack 
No.  10  were  ordered  out  and  made  to  pull  down  their 
clothes  and  sit  naked  upon  the  ice.  The  crime  committed 
was  bespattering  the  spit  box  too  much.  Sometimes  men 
would  be  ordered  out  at  night  and  forced  'to  lean  over, 
without  bending  the  knee,  and  touch  the  ground  with  the 
forefinger.  This  was  termed,  'pointing  for  grub.'  Many 
frequently  fell,  in  this  position,  from  rush  of  blood  to  the 
head.  Many  prisoners  were  shot  down  by  the  guards 
without  any  provocation  whatever.  Boxes  and  barrels 
were  often  placed  over  the  shoulders  of  prisoners,  and 
kept  their  for  several  days,  as  punishment  for  breaking 
rules  unknown  to  them.  While  Col.  Sweet  was  in  com- 
mand, and  Lieut.  Col,  L.  C.  Skinner  was  commissary-gen- 
eral of  prisoners,  we  were  forced  to  go  to  bed  at  sun-down, 
summer  and  winter,  after  which,  if  a  word  was  spoken, 
the  offender  was  ordered  out  and  punished  cruelly.  In- 
spection took  place  once  a  week.  The  whole  camp  was 
ordered  out  at  once,  and  not  by  barracks.  We  were  forced 
to  stand  until  inspection  was  through.  Xumbers  used  to 
drop,  fainting  from  weakness.  The  number  of  prisoners 
was  about  12,000. 

"Men  talk  of  the  horrors  of  Anderson  ville.    If  those  who 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS.  453 

now  sleep  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Michigan  could  tell  the 
story  of  their  sufferings,  Andersonville  would  appear  as  a 
paradise  in  comparison." 

A  prisoner  who  was  confined  eight  months  at  Point 
Lookout,  in  Maryland,  writes  : 

"We  reached  here  about  the  middle  of  June,  1864.     At 
the  provost  marshal's  office  we  were  partially  stripped  of 
our  clothing  and  our  persons  were  strictly  searched.     Our 
money,  watches,  and  little  valuables  were  taken  from  us. 
We  were  then  marched  into  the  camp  enclosure  and  initi- 
ated in  prison  regulations.     We  were  placed  in  small  tents, 
capable  of  holding  five  men  with  great  discomfort.   Most  of 
the  men  who  came  in  with  us  slept  on  the  ground.    When  it 
rained  our  situation  was  truly  deplorable.    On  the  morning 
of  our  arrival  they  gave  us  each  a  small  loaf  of  bread.    This 
was  our  scant  allowance  for  the  day.     The  next  day,  when 
we  applied  for  more,  they  told  us  our  supply  for  that  day 
was  drawn  the  day  before ;  we  therefore  had  no  bread  till 
late  in  the  afternoon.     This  explanation  was  always  given 
when  rations  were  not  issued.     At  dinner  we  had  a  small 
slice  of  fat  salt  meat,  and  a  cup  of  soup.     The  ingredients 
of  this  soup  are  known  only  to  those  who  made  it;  it 
smelt  like  dish-water,  and  strongly  resembled  it  in  appear- 
ance and  consistency.     Our  voracious  appetites  rendered 
the  most  repugnant  food  palatable,  yet  I  have  often  seen 
this  abominable  compound  left  untouched  by  those  who 
would  eagerly  have  devoured  whatever  their  morbid  stom- 
achs could  retain.     Eats  were  eagerly  eaten,  and  hard  cab- 
bage stalk,  with  raw  potato  peelings,  which  had  been 
thrown  into  the  sewers,  was  used  for  food.     The  scurvy, 
brought  on  by  this  wretched  diet,  was  prevalent  in  its 
most  awful  form. 

"  The  greatest  of  our  troubles  arose  from  want  of  good 
water.     The  salt  meat  created  intense  thirst,  which  we 


454  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 

had  no  means  of  slaking.  There  were  about  thirty  Tvells 
within  the  encampment,  but  all  the  water  was  strongly 
impregnated  with  copper  and  other  minerals,  and  the  sur- 
geons pronounced  it  poisonous.  We  were  advised  by  them 
to  drink  as  little  of  it  as  possible.  It  turned  the  teeth  and 
tongue,  in  many  instances,  perfectly  black.  One  evening, 
about  dusk,  I  was  sitting  in  my  tent  with  the  door  open, 
when  I  saw  a  flash,  and  heard  the  report  of  a  musket,  im- 
mediately followed  by  a  groan.  I  was  sick  at  the  time, 
and  did  not  leave  my  tent,  but  one  of  my  tent-mates  ran 
immediately  to  the  spot,  where  a  crowd  of  men  soon  col- 
lected, and  found  an  unfortunate  prisoner  mortally 
wounded.  He  was  a  sick  man  who  had  taken  a  walk 
for  exercise,  when,  finding  himself  exhausted,  he  sat  down 
on  one  of  the  bridges  to  rest.  The  negro  sentinel  did 
not  speak  to  him,  but  fired  without  warning.  The  sur- 
geons, Gren.  Barnes  (the  commandant  of  the  post,)  and 
other  oflScers,  came  in  soon  afterwards.  The  poor  prison- 
er died  about  three  hours  later,  and  we  heard  no  more  of 
the  affair.  No  one  was  surprised  at  this  atrocious  outrage, 
or  at  the  indifference  with  which  it  was  treated  by  the 
authorities.  Groups  of  men  were  sometimes  fired  into, 
and  persons  killed  and  wounded  who  had  committed  no 
offence. 

"Sometimes  men  would  huddle  together  in  their  tents 
all  day  to  prevent  actual  freezing.  Their  feet,  in  many 
instances,  were  dreadfully  frost-bitten.  The  supply  of 
wood,  at  best,  was  scarcely  sufiicient  to  prevent  suffer- 
ing. Three  small  sticks,  about  three  feet  in  length,  was 
the  usual  allowance  for  twenty-four  hours.  Sometimes 
none  was  issued.  This  was  generally  the  case  when  a 
sudden  severe  spell  set  in,  and  no  preparation  had  been 
made  for  it.  Bronchitis,  pneumonia  and  dysentery  became 
fearfully  prevalent,  as  the  winter  set  in.  I  have  actually 
tracked  men  coming  to  the  hospital,  and  along  the  streets 
of  the  camp,  by  the  blood  spit  up  during  a  haemorrhage. 

"  When  an  exchange  took  place,  the  surgeons  would  or- 


FEDERAL    POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  455 


der  ail  the  sick  who  were  strong  enough  to  walk,  to  as- 
semble on  a  long  platform  in  front  of  the  wards,  extend- 
ing nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile.  They  generally  appeared 
in  hospital  clothing,  consisting  of  a  thin  shirt  and  draw- 
ers, and  a  blanket  around  their  shoulders.  This  sometimes 
occurred  in  very  cold  weather.  After  forming  into  a  line, 
they  were  marched  several  times  up  and  down  the  plat- 
form, and  after  they  returned  to  their  beds,  selections 
were  made  of  the  fit  subjects  for  exchange.  On  these  oc- 
casions bribes  were  offered  and  accepted  by  the  United 
States  contract  physicians.  Men  in  perfect  health  were 
sent  off  in  ever}^  boat  load  of  sick,  when  the  sick  only 
should  have  been  selected.  Comparatively  few  of  the 
number  whose  strength  had  been  tried  by  the  march  on 
the  platform,  were  chosen.  Many  were  moved  to  super- 
human exertions  by  the  hope  of  release,  and  when  dis- 
appointed, sunk  in  despair.  The  mortality  after  one  of 
these  occasions  was  terrific. 

"  The  supply  of  medicine  was  generally  entirely  insufil- 
cient  and  unsuitable.  The  hospital  accommodation  was 
totally  insufficient.  I  have  seen  men  brought  from  camp 
on  a  litter,  when  they  had  been  lying  ill  for  days  upon  the 
floor  of  their  tents,  with  only  one  thin  blanket ;  and  after 
getting  to  the  hospital,  they  were  put  on  the  floor  of  the 
ward,  instead  of  in  a  bed.  Frequently,  while  they  were 
making  room  for  a  patient,  the  poor  wretch  would  lie 
shivering  from  cold,  outside  the  tent ;  and  once,  I  saw 
the  litter  set  down  upon  the  snow,  and  remain  there  some 
minutes,  with  a  very  ill  man  upon  it.  The  dead  were 
placed  in  a  large  tent,  and  1  have  gone  there  and  found 
the  tent  almost  blown  away,  and  the  bodies  half  buried 
in  snow." 

Another  prisoner,  who  was   also   at   Point   Lookout, 
writes  : 

"  Each  sentinel  on  the  fence  had  orders  to  shoot  any 


456  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 

person  crossing  the  'dead  line,'  and  the  order  was  not  only 
carried  out  to  the  letter,  but  in  several  instances  was  made 
an  excuse  by  negroes  to  shoot  their  former  masters  on 
account  of  some  fancied  grievances  they  had  suffered  years 
previous  to  the  war. 

"During  the  spring  tides,  the  camp  in  some  j)laces  was 
from  two  to  three  feet  under  water,  and  yet  men  were  not 
allowed  to  move  their  tents  to  a  dry  place.  The  fiendish 
brutality  practiced  by  the  Fifth  Massachusetts  Cavalry  on 
the  defenceless  unfortunates  at  this  post  can  never  be  for- 
gotten nor  forgiven." 

A  prisoner  in  Fort  Delaware,  in  the  State  of  Delaware, 
writes : 

"  When  we  arrived  at  the  fort,  every  man  was  thorough- 
ly searched,  and  his  money,  watch,  and  extra  clothing 
were  taken  from  him.  This  was  the  last  he  saw  of  these 
articles.  We  were  then  driven,  with  curses  and  kicks, 
into  a  miserable  pen  which  already  contained  8,000  Con- 
federates, hundreds  of  whom  were  sick,  and  all  of  whom 
were  suffering  from  hunger.  The  sick  were  examined 
every  morning,  and  a  few  of  those  who  were  thought  fit 
for  the  hospital  were  sent  there.  The  hospital  arrange- 
ments were  wretched.  Men  died  there  rapidly  from  want 
of  care,  unwholesome  food  and  bad  water.  The  accom- 
modations were  entirely  insufficient,  and  I  have  known 
sick  men  to  stand  by  the  bedside  of  the  dying  waiting  to 
get  possession  of  the  cot.  Many  prisoners  died  in  barracks 
during  the  winter.     Many  of  them  were  frozen  to  death. 

"  The  rations  were  very  meagre.  At  eight  o'clock  every 
morning,  one  small  piece  of  mixed  corn  and  wheat  bread 
and  about  an  ounce  of  salt  meat  was  issued  to  each  man. 
The  same  quantity  was  issued  at  two  o'clock,  with  the 
addition  of  a  pint  of  filthy  soup.  This  was  all  we  had. 
The  water  was  from  the  Delaware  Bay,  and  was  very 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  457 

brackish  and  foul.  The  tide  flowed  into  the  moat  around. 
Our  supply  of  water  was  drawn  from  the  moat,  into  which 
the  wash  and  the  filth  of  the  w4iole  Fort  emptied.  Pris- 
ODers  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  have  a  little  money 
—  and  they  were  few  —  would  offer  one  dollar  for  a  pint 
of  pure  water. 

"If  a  prisoner  did  not  happen  to  hear  the  bugle  sound 
'taps,'  and  his  light  was  not  immediately  extinguished 
the  sentinels  always  shot  through  the  barracks,  without 
any  warning  whatever.  I  recollect,  that  in  one  instance 
alone,  two  men,  lying  peaceably  in  their  blankets,  were 
killed  in  this  way.  Tying  up  by  the  thumbs  was  a  pun- 
ishment practiced  daily  for  a  very  slight  infraction  of  rio-id 
prison  rules.  I  have  seen  men  tied  up  for  two  and  three 
hours  at  a  time,  on  the  coldest  winter  day,  until  their 
arms  and  hands  were  as  black  as  an  African's." 

E.,  w^ho  was  also  a  prisoner  at  Fort  Delaware,  writes  : 

'•During  my  confinement  I  gleaned  from  the  unhappy 
sufferer  an  account  of  most  atrocious  torture  practiced 
upon  him  by  General  Schoepf,  who  was  in  command. 
Lieut.  IL,  adjutant  in  one  of  the  battalions  of  Brecken- 
ridge's  division,  had  written  two  letters  to  friends  in  the 
South,  and  had  given  them  to  one  of  the  guards  who 
promised  to  mail  them.  There  was  nothing  either  partic- 
ular or  important  in  the  letters,  although  it  was  in  viola- 
tion of  prison  rules  to  attempt  to  get  them  off.  Unfor- 
tunately they  were  intercepted,  and  Lieut.  H.  and  a  friend 
were  at  once  summoned  before  General  Schoepf.  Lieut. 
H.  acknowledged  that  he  had  written  the  letters,  but  re- 
fused to  betray  the  name  of  the  guard  who  had  received 
them.  Gen.  S.,  after  much  abuse,  declared  that  he  would 
force  the  names  from  him,  and  handed  him  over  to  the 
provost  marshal  for  torture.  His  hands  were  manacled 
and  pinioned  behind  his  back.     He  was  then  suspended  by 


458  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS. 

the  elbows,  and  kept  hanging  in  the  air  until  he  fainted 
from  excruciating  agony.  A  surgeon  was  detailed  to 
watch  the  operation  and  to  replace  the  shoulders  of  the 
unfortunate  sufferer  when  they  became  dislocated.  This 
was  repeated  several  times,  after  which  Lieut.  H.  was 
placed  in  solitary  confinement  for  ten  days." 

W.  S.,  who  was  a  prisoner  at  Elmira,  states : 

"The  mortality  there  was  frightful.  The  number  of 
men  confined  in  this  prison-pen  ranged  from  seven  to  nine 
thousand.  On  one  day  in  the  autumn  of  1864,  there  were 
thirty-three  deaths;  and  during  my  imprisonment  the 
deaths  averaged  about  one  to  every  five. 

"  The  rations  were  miserably  insufficient,  and  consisted 
of  a  slice  of  bread  and  piece  of  meat,  salt  or  fresh,  for 
breakfast,  and  a  slice  of  bread  and  cup  of  soup  for  dinner. 
Upon  one  occasion,  a  prisoner  who  was  detected  searching, 
in  a  sewer  that  led  from  the  hospital  cook  house,  for  food 
to  appease  the  intense  craving  of  hunger,  was  fired  upon 
by  a  sentinel.  The  ball  missed  him,  but  entered  the  gan- 
grene hospital,  and  wounded  one  of  the  patients  in  the 
leg. 

"  One  man  in  my  ward  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  hold 
of  a  dog,  which  was  soon  devoured.  He  was  severely 
punished  for  appeasing  hunger  in  this  way. 

"  The  small-pox  was  very  violent.  On  some  days  there 
were  twenty  fresh  cases.  The  men  were  inoculated  in  a 
very  rough  manner.  There  was  much  inflammation  after 
this  operation.  Gangrene  frequently  made  its  appearance, 
and  in  several  instances  arms  had  to  be  amputated.  The 
small-pox  hospital  was  within  the  camp.  Those  who  died 
of  this  horrible  disease  were  buried  within  the  enclosure, 
within  two  hundred  yards  of  our  mess-hall.  Upon  several 
occasions,  corpses  were  permitted  to  remain  on  the  snow, 
for  want  of  coffins. 

"  There  was  a  great  deal  of  punishment  for  various  of- 


FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  459 

fences.  There  was  a  sweat-box,  made  like  a  coffin,  in 
which  men  were  shut  up,  and  in  which  they  could  hardly 
breathe.  There  was  much  petty  persecution.  On  one 
occasion,  when  the  thermometer  was  ten  degrees  below 
zero,  I  procured  some  shavings  to  put  in  my  bed  to  keep 
me  warm.  They  were  ordered  to  be  removed  by  the 
commandant  of  the  post,  who  said  they  were  too  luxuri- 
ous for  a  rebel." 

A  released  prisoner,  writing  of  the  sufferings  at  Camp 
Chase,  Ohio,  says  : 

''  There  were  barbarities  committed  here  from  which 
the  mind  shrinks  with  horror  and  disgust.  One  prisoner 
was  shot  for  crossing  the  dead-line.  His  body  was  left 
lying  where  it  fell,  until  it  was  nearly  devoured  by 
vermin,  and  the  stench  became  so  offensive  that  its  removal 
was  ordered. 

"At  one  time  the  rations  were  greatly  reduced,  and  the 
prisoners  were  allowed  just  sufficient  to  keep  them  from 
absolute  starvation.  Half-famished  men  fought  over  their 
food,  like  wolves  over  a  carcass.  Yarious  other  modes  of 
torture  were  resorted  to.  Gagging  and  corporeal  punish- 
ment were  matters  of  every-day  occurence.  At  Tod  Bar- 
racks, a  neighboring  prison,  one  man  was  hung  up  by  his 
toes,  too  far  from  the  ground  to  obtain  any  support  from 
his  hands.  During  the  latter  part  of  1864,  prisoners  were 
marched  over  the  frozen  ground  in  bare  feet  and  without 
coats  to  their  backs,  A  squad  of  half-naked  prisoners  was 
marched  from  Tod  Barracks  to  Camp  Chase,  during  the 
coldest  nights  of  1864,  without  the  slightest  necessity.  All 
were  frozen.  Many  of  them  were  unable  to  draw  their 
hands  from  their  pockets.  The  corpses  of  prisoners  were 
sold  and  bodies  taken  from  the  graves  for  the  use  of  medi- 
cal colleges  and  surgeons." 

G.  L.  writes  of  Johnson's  Island,  situated  on  Lak'e  Erie : 


460  FEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN   PRISONS. 

"Bread  made  of  inferior  flour,  which  was  occasionally 
sour,  was  issued.  The  meat  was  rusty  bacon  or  beef  neck. 
Twice  in  one  year  we  had  good  cuts  of  beef,  but  it  was  so 
far  decayed  as  to  be  oifensive.  Occasionally  we  had  a  few 
worm-eaten  pease,  and  twice  I  saw  some  small  potatoes. 

"  The  hospital  was  poorly  supplied  with  inferior  medi- 
cines. The  quarterly  supplies  of  laudanum,  morphia,  and 
a  cheap  substitute  for  quinine,  which  we  were  told  was  too 
dear  to  buy,  generally  gave  out  about  the  seventh  week 
after  their  receipt.  Money  was  tendered  from  friends  in 
New  York  to  supply  the  needed  drugs,  but  the  permission 
was  refused." 

J.  H.,  speaking  of  his  experiences  in  this  prison,  says: 

"The  discipline  was  very  severe.  Men  suffered  from 
want  of  clothing  and  from  want  of  food.  It  was  a  common 
thing  to  have  the  scanty  rations  stopped  on  men  because 
they  would  not  fall  promptly  into  line  at  roll-call.  Men 
died  from  want  of  common  medicines.  Every  kind  of  cruel- 
ty was  practiced.  Men  were  placed  in  close  confinement, 
were  tied  up  by  the  thumbs  and  were  made  to  stand  on 
one  foot,  holding  the  other  up  with  one  of  their  hands,  and 
pointing  with  a  finger  of  the  other  to  the  ground.  Men 
were  wantonly  killed  on  slight  pretexts." 

G.  H.  says  of  Morris  Island  and  Fort  Pulaski  : 

"  Our  men  were  assassinated  by  the  negro  troops  who 
guarded  us.  More  were  not  shot  because  we  were  so  ex- 
ceedingly careful.  Col.  Owings  was  deliberately  murdered. 
He  was  lame  and  could  not  walk  as  fast  as  he  was  ordered, 
on  return  to  quarters.  He  was  shot,  and  died  soon  after. 
Several  others  were  shot." 

B.  S.  D.  writes  : 


TEDERAL   POLICY   AND    NORTHERN    PRISONS.  461 

"  One  of  the  men  on  one  occasion  picked  one  hundred 
and  fifty  worms  out  of  three  rations  of  this  meal.  The 
rations  were  not  sufficient  to  sustain  life." 

The  facts  recorded  above  were  collected  without  any 
particular  care  or  eifort,  and  were  furnished  from  time  to 
time  by  the  parties,  without  any  knowledge  that  they  were 
to  be  made  public. 

It  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  there  was  no  excuse 
whatever  for  the  systematic  ill-treatment  which  Southern 
prisoners  received  at  the  hands  of  the  Federals.  In  the 
J^orth,  supplies  were  abundant,  clothing  was  plenty,  and 
both  were  freely  and  gratuitously  offered  by  citizens  of 
Maryland  and  Kentucky,  and  indeed  of  New  York  and 
other  Northern  States.  Medicines  could  be  readily  ob- 
tained. Transportation  was  easy.  There  was  no  defi- 
ciency of  men  for  police  duty,  and  no  difficulty  in  guard- 
ing prisoners  and  preventing  their  escape,  without  resort- 
ing to  torture  and  assassination  for  the  purpose  of  intimi- 
dation. In  the  South,  on  the  contrary,  people  were  put  to 
the  greatest  straits.  Houses  were  bared  of  their  carpets 
to  supply  coverings  for  the  soldiers  in  the  field.  Churches 
were  Gripped  of  their  cushions  to  provide  couches  for  the 
wounded  in  the  hospitals.  Medicines  could  only  be  had  at 
exorbitant  rates,  and  then  only  in  small  quantities,  the 
Federal  Government  having  inaugurated  a  most  cruel 
precedent  in  declaring  them,  together  with  surgical  instru- 
ments, contraband  of  war.  Transportation  became  diffi- 
cult as  the  railroads  wore  out,  and,  during  the  latter  part 
of  the  war,  many  of  the  supplies  for  the  Army  of  Yirginia 
had  to  be  wagoned  three  hundred  miles,  over  country 
roads.  Men  were  spared  from  the  field  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  every  soldier  under  arms  being  required,  in  fact, 
to  do  the  duty  of  two  or  tliree  men,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  detail  any  larger  or  even  sufficient  force  to  guard  pris- 
oners. 


462  THE   PEOPLE   IN    GREY. 

NotwithstaQcling  all  these  diflSculties,  notwithstanding 
the  outrages  committed  by  Northern  troops,  and  the  cruel- 
ties of  Northern  jailors,  it  is  a  fact  well  known  to  the 
intimate  friends  of  Mr.  Davis,  that  he  persistently  turned 
a  deaf  ear  to  the  entreaties  of  extreme  men,  and  that 
he  steadfastly  refused  to  inaugurate  in  the  Confederacy 
a  system  of  persecution  which  was  utterly  repugnant 
to  every  sentiment  of  his  nature,  and  to  the  feelings  of 
every  brave  and  high-toned  leader  in  the  South.  The  fact 
is,  that  it  was  the  intention  and  desire  of  the  Confederate 
Government  to  provide  for  its  prisoners  of  war  as  it  did 
for  its  own  men.  When,  however,  there  was  a  scarcity  of 
food,  the  preference  was  naturally  given  to  Southern  sol- 
diers in  the  field. 

For  more  than  four  years  the  Northern  press  was  muz- 
zled, and  the  truth  was  not  only  persistently  concealed, 
but  was  wilfully  perverted.  Much  as  we  have  heard  of 
the  horrors  of  war,  we  have  as  yet  formed  no  adequate 
conception  of  the  vindictive  malignity  with  which  the 
South  was  persecuted,  or  of  the  inhumanities  which  were 
perpetrated  by  officers  of  the  Federal  army,  under  coun- 
teoance  of  and  by  instruction  from  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment. * 


^ht  ^^0ph  hx  6r£g. 


BY  COL.    B.    H.    JONES. 


A  NOBLE  people  were  the  People  in  Grey, 
However  derided  or  slandered ; 

A  nation  of  heroes  —  all  heroes  were  they 
Who  followed  the  triple-barred  standard. 


THE   PEOPLE   IN    GREY.  463 

'Twas  Freedom  that  summoned  the  People  in  Grey, 
Who  gathered  from  valley  and  mountain  ; 

The  men  who  were  reared  on  Yirginia's  red  clay  — 
By  Florida's  youth-giving  fountain. 

Sublime  were  the  deeds  of  the  People  in  Grey, 

Unequalled  by  Spartan  or  Eoman  ; 
While  thrillingly  rose  'bove  the  din  of  the  fray, 

Their  slogan  — "  Our  Country  and  Woman  !  " 

How  strong  was  the  faith  of  the  People  in  Grey, 

Unshaken  by  toil  or  privation  ; 
'Twas  love  for  their  country  that  pointed  their  way, 

And  their  blood  was  Freedom's  libation. 

How  proudly  they  stood,  the  rare  People  in  Grey, 

Confronting  with  steel  the  invader ; 
And  spread  'mid  the  foes  of  the  South-land  dismay, 

A  curse  upon  those  who  betrayed  her ! 

A  patriot  race  were  the  People  in  Grey, 

The  world  never  saw  such  devotion  ; 
Thoufich  their  foes  swarmed  thick  from  the  isles  of  the 
sea. 

And  legions  poured  over  the  ocean  ; 

Yet  they  yielded  never  —  the  People  in  Grey — 
'Till,  like  the  "  Three  Hundred  "  in  story. 

Who  died  for  the  right  on  Thermopylae's  day, 
They  wearied  of  slaughter  and  glory. 

The  martyrs  of  freedom,  the  People  in  Grey  ; 

The  bones  of  their  heroes,  wide  bleaching. 
In  gorge  and  ravine  in  the  South-land  away. 

The  duties  of  freemen  are  teaching. 

Then  fear  not  Time's  verdict,  O  Peoj^le  in  Grey ! 
Hlumining  historj^'s  pages. 


464  THE    REASON    WHY. 

Your  deeds  all  engraven  in  grandest  array, 
Shall  flash  through  the  far-coming  ages. 

Then  a  people  of  mark  were  the  People  in  Grey, 

However  derided  or  slandered  ; 
For  a  nation  of  heroes  —  all  heroes  —  were  they, 

^Yho  followed  the  triple-barred  standard  ! 
Johnson's  Island,  May  I'Hth,  1865. 


£;ij^  |Ua;s0n  Mljg. 


BY  COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


From  streets  and  alleys  float  afar. 
The  moaniugs  of  this  famine  war, 
While  sentries  grim,  with  mouths  ajar. 
Stare  from  their  "beats  "  enquiringly- 

"  Enquiringly  ?  "     Men,  know  ye  not, 
That  on  this  hell-resembling  spot. 
We  sicken,  totter,  perish,  rot, — 
Victims  of  inhumanity  ? 

"  Eetaliation  ?  "     Curse  the  word  ! 
'Twas  ne'er  from  lips  of  Jesus  heard; 
By  it  the  hearts  of  fiends  are  stirred, 
'Neath  Hell's  sulphurous  canopy  ! 

"  Your  brothers  starve  in  Libby's  den  — 
In  Georgia's  crowded  prison-pen  ?  " 
"  Why  come  they  never  back  again  ?  " 
Ask  ye  for  the  reason  why  ? 


THE    REASON    WHY.  465 

When  on  his  "  line  "  he  "  fio-hts  it  out," 
Where  Northern  legions  flee  in  rout ; 
Where  wild  and  clear  rings  out  the  shout, 
Of  our  brave  Confederacy ; 

Your  vaunted  leader  has  decreed  — 
The  nian  that  lords  it  over  Meade  — 
The  man  that  doth  our  foxes  feed, 
On  flesh  of  Northern  soldiery ; 

That  it  were  better  yours  should  lie, 
With  flutt'ring  pulse  and  glazing  eye ; 
Aye  !  better  far  that  they  should  die, 
In  bitterest  agony  ; 

'Nov  see  their  yearned-for  homes  again  ; 
Nor  free  the  aching  hearts  from  pain  ; 
Nor  answer  to  the  sad  refrain, 

Of  "  Sweet  Home  "  minstrelsy ; 

Than  we,  released  from  prison  vile, 
Should  turn  us  from  this  ice-bound  Isle, 
And  go  where  Southern  violets  smile, 
To  strike  once  more  for  Liberty. 

For  though  his  legions  cover  o'er 
Virginia's  soil  from  shore  to  shore, 
And  fresh  recruits  still  onward  pour. 

With  song  and  shout  tumultuously ; 

While  Lee's  scarred  vet'rans — wasted,  worn, 
By  sickness,  famine,  battle^  torn ; 
A  sj)ectral  line,  a  hojDC  forlorn — 

Still  breast  the  roar  of  cannonry  ; 

He  knows,  though  few,  the  men  are  strong, 
Who  battle  for  the  Eight  with  Wrong ; 
20* 


466  RAT-DEN   LINDEN. 

That  famed  in  story,  rhymed  in  song, 
Is  more  than  one  Thermopyla3. 

This,  men,  is  the  true  reason  why 
We  linger  here;  they  there  —  to  die. 
The  fear  that  Eight,  proud-crested,  high. 
May  wrest  from  Wrong  the  victory  ! 


§lat-btiT  l^inJr^it. 


A  PAEODY. 


BY  COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


In  prison  when  the  sun  was  high, 
Each  rebel  gazed  with  anxious  eye, 
But  not  a  crumb  could  he  descry. 
For  Little  "  Eeb  "  the  terrier. 

But  Eat-den  saw  another  sight, 
Long  ere  the  sun's  resplendant  light 
Was  darkened  by  the  shades  of  night. 
Within  the  dread  Bastilery. 

For  lo!  at  certain  signal  made, 
Each  "  Eeb  "  resolved  upon  a  "  raid," 
With  club  in  lieu  of  battle  blade, 
Fiercely  assailed  the  rattery. 


RAT-DEN    LINDEN. 


467 


Then  were  their  thousand  holes  up-riven, 
Then  scampered  rats  in  terror  driven, 
No  "  quarter  "  then  by  Eebs  was  given, 
'Twas  more  than  a  catastrophe. 

Fiercer  and  louder  grows  the  "  row," 
Sharper  and  shriller  "  Eebs  "  "  bow-wow  !  " 
We've  had  enough  of  Yankee  "  Ceow," 
Unless  it  could  some  fatter  be. 

"  The  combat  deepens."     "  On  ye  brave !  " 
Eesolved  "  rat-bacon  "  n(jw  to  save  ; 
Gray  Jackets,  strike  with  stone  and  stave  I 
"  Go  in  "  ye  little  terriers  I 

'Tis  evening,  and  yon  setting  sun 
Throws  slanting  beams  on  Number  "  One ;  " 
The  battle  we've  to-day  begun, 
We'll  press  to-morrow  valiantly. 

And  redder  yet  shall  be  the  glow, 
On  Johnson's  Isle,  of  blood-stained  snow, 
And  deeper  yet  shall  be  the  flow 
Of  rat-blood  streaming  steadily. 

Few  rats  shall  part  where  many  meet ; 
Starved  "  Eebs  "  will  weave  their  winding  sheet ; 
*Twere  better  far  of  rats  to  eat, 
Than  die  of  hunger  bodily  I 


468  THE  MINSTREL  AND  THE  QUEEN. 


£ljt  lllinstrcl  imb  tbt  C^^^cm. 


BY    COL.    W.    S.    HAWKINS. 


I  THINK  of  the  pleasures  that  once  were  mine, 
In  the  beautiful  days  that  shall  be  no  more, 
And  I  sigh  for  the  jo^^s  of  the  "  Auld  Lang  Syne/' 
And  the  chaplets  so  cool,  of  the  fig  and  the  vine. 

That  enclustered  my  brows  in  the  temple  of  yore. 

« 
They  say  that  the  woodlands  are  gorgeous  again, 

With  more  wonderful  tints  than  the  Syrians  knew ; 
That  the  reapers  have  garnered  the  sheaves  of  the  grain, 
That  the  tents  of  November  are  pitched  on  the  plain, 

And  the  skies  wear  a  softer  and  holier  hue. 

So  the  old  year  has  taken  brown  autumn  for  queen, 

And  I  hoj)ed  to  be  there  with  the  troubadours  gay, 
To  honor  the  bride  in  that  proud  wedding  scene, 
Where  she  stands  in  the  shimmering  scintillant  sheen 
Of  her  royalty's  wondrous  and  lavish  array. 

From  the  walls  that  surround  me  I  could  not  behold. 

How  the  year  put  the  robes  of  her  nuptial  on  ; 
Though  I  know  they  were  broidered  with  crimson  and  gold, 
Like  a  chief,  when  the  bead-spangled  wampums  enfold, 
As  he  sits  where  the  frost-painted  leaflets  are  strown. 

In  his  kingly  apparel  he  waited  for  me; 

But  alas!  I  no  longer  could  join  the  glad  throng 
Of  the  poets  and  maidens  in  full-hearted  glee, 
Whose  footsteps  of  joy  by  the  rivulets  be. 

As  they  welcome  the  monarchs  with  garland  and  song. 

As  they  wander  at  will  where  the  wood  elfins  play, 
And  dance  to  the  chimes  of  the  Graces  and  Loves, 


THE    MINSTREL    AND    THE    QUEEN.  469 

While  the  night  lends  her  softness  awhile  to  the  day, 
And  the  Queen  of  the  time  wields  her  magical  sway, 
In  the  play -haunted  aisles  of  the  shadowy  groves. 

No,  I  could  not  be  there,  for  grim  war  hurried  by. 

And  my  harj)  was  exchanged  for  a  keen  pointed  blade  ; 
Its  soft  tones  were  drowned  by  the  toiled  battle  cry, 
The  shouting  of  thousands  when  conflict  was  nigh, 
And  strong  legions  stood  in  their  valor  arrayed. 

From  the  field  to  the  prison — 'tis  a  w^arrior's  fate. 

And  my  spirit  must  fain  be  content  with  its  doom ; 
But  with  feelings  akin  to  the  season  I  wait 
As  the  cruel  maid  Winter  approaches  in  state. 

To  be  Queen  when  our  Autumn  has  gone  to  her  tomb. 

Alas  for  the  halls  of  our  lady  so  fair ! 

Since  the  snow-wreaths  shall  be  where  her  corslets  were 
hung; 
Alas  for  the  forests  all  leafless  and  bare  ! 
All  mournful  the  garb  this  the  courtiers  wear, 

All  plaintive  the  songs  by  the  choristers  sung. 

I  turn  from  the  spot  where  the  icicles  shine. 

Where  the  dews  of  the  morning  have  changed  into  snow; 
And  I  would  that  the  flagons  of  Cyprus  were  mine. 
That  my  lips  might  be  red  with  the  redness  of  wine. 
And  my  thoughts  be  allured  from  the  presence  of  woe. 

O,  Winter,  thou  sorceress,  lovely  but  pale, 
I  dread  that  the  time  of  thy  empire  has  come. 

E'er  the  rhyme  of  the  poet  shall  change  to  a  wail  ! 

The  song-birds  shall  fly  and  the  bright  flowers  fail, 
And  the  garden  shall  miss  the  low  honey  bee's  hum. 

Beneath  thy  weird  spell  shall  the  Polar  light  gleam. 

And  the  yellow  leaves  sullenly  drift  thro'  the  fens  ; 
And  the  ripple  and  j)url  of  each  musical  stream 


470  woman's  love. 

Shall  be  locked  in  the  crystaline  charm  of  a  dream, 
And  thy  white  glamour  covers  the  hills  and  the  glens. 

I  fear  thee,  mysterious  cold-hearted  one  ! 

And  gladly  would  turn  from  the  chills  of  thy  bowers  j 
Would  hide  me  away  till  thy  power  is  done, 
Till  the  angels  of  splendor  that  follow  the  sun, 

Crown  the  beautiful  May  to  be  Queen  of  the  Hour. 

Come  Pity,  with  tears  since  my  wishing  is  vain  ; 

Come  Friendship,  the  slow  pinioned  days  to  beguile; 
Come  Love,  with  thy  balm  for  the  woundings  of  pain ; 
Come  starry-eyed  Hope,  with  thy  blessings  again. 

And  the  prisoner  minstrel  shall  bask  in  thy  smile. 


WiommxB  '^obt. 


BY  LIEUTENANT  HOWARD    C.    WRIGHT. 


I. 

Wildly  raging  were  the  billows, 

Wildly  heaving  was  the  sea, 
Black  and  jagged  clouds  were  driving  — 

Wildly  driving  toward  the  lea. 
Hoarse  and  sullen  were  the  whispers 

Of  the  madly  rushing  gale, 
Whispering  to  the  seething  waters 

Of  some  shipwreck's  awful  tale. 


woman's  love.  471 

Dark  and  lurid  was  the  ocean, 

With  its  angry  roar  and  loud  ; 
"White  and  fleecy  were  its  wave-caps, 

Looking  like  some  ghostly  shroud. 
Grimly-frowning  rode  the  Storm-king  — 

Eode  he  on  with  might  and  main  — 
Spreading  in  his  path  destruction, 

Eecking  not  of  cost  or  pain. 

II. 

Tossed  upon  those  heaving  billows, 

There  engulphed  beneath  their  crest, 
Was  a  mortal  vainly  struggling 

The  o'erwhelming  waves  to  breast. 
For  a  moment  in  the  hollow 

Of  the  sea  he  gathered  strength, 
And  recovering  hope  and  courage. 

He  strikes  boldly  out  at  length, 
But  to  meet  another  billow 

In  its  fierce,  resistless  stride, 
Crushing  down  his  feeble  eiforts 

In  its  strength  and  mocking  pride. 
Tossed  upon  the  foaming  wave-caps, 

Like  a  feather  in  the  wind, 
Why  has  he  not  ceased  to  struggle, 

And  despair  o'erruled  his  mind  ? 

III. 

Black  and  driving  though  the  clouds  were, 

Dark  and  frowning  though  the  sky, 
Dim  and  distant  though  the  sun  was. 

Still  it  seemed  forever  nigh  ; 
For  a  beacon  light  there  glimmered  — ^ 

Glimmered  through  the  opaque  air, 
Telling  of  the  peaceful  haven  — 

Of  the  peaceful  haven  there. 


472  woman's  love. 

And  the  babied  swimmer  struggled 

With  a  courage  never  lost ; 
Struggled  still  'gainst  angry  waters, 

Though  upon  the  wave-caps  tossed  ; 
For  that  ray,  though  faint,  beamed  steady, 

And  not  e'en  the  darkling  sky, 
Xor  the  madly  driving  billows, 

Could  obscure  it  from  his  eye. 


IV. 


Eeam,  thou  brightly  welcome  beacon ! 

Send  thy  gleam  out  on  the  sea! 
Let  it  reach  that  struggling  swimmer, 

Still  his  hope  and  strength  to  be  ! 
Let  that  heavenly  radiance  dim  not, 

Let  its  light  still  guide  him  on. 
Till,  at  last,  he  conquers  fortune, 

And  the  shore  he's  safely  won ! 
For  the  darkling  clouds  that  lower, 

And  the  seas  in  angry  strife, 
Are  events  that  now  surround  us  — 

'Tis  the  struggle  of  a  life ! 
Eut  that  beacon  brightly  gleaming 

Like  some  peaceful  star  above. 
Beckoning  onward  !   ever  onward  ! 

Is  the  light  of  Woma?i's  Love  I 


STUART.  473 


Stuarl. 

BY    COL.    W.    W.    FONTAINE. 


I. 

Mourn,  mourn  along  thy  mountains  high  ! 
Mourn,  mourn  along  thine  ocean  wave  ! 
Virginia,  mourn !     Thy  brave  of  brave 

Has  struck  for  thee  his  last  good  blow ! 
O,  South  wind,  breathe  thy  softest  sigh  ! 
O,  young  moon,  shed  thy  gentlest  light ! 
Ye  silver  dews,  come  weep  to-night, 

To  honor  Stuart  —  lying  low. 

II. 

The  princeliest  scion  of  royal  race  ; 
The  knightliest  of  his  knightly  name; 
The  imperial  brow  encrowned  by  Fame, 

Lies  pallid  on  his  mother's  breast. 
How  sadly  tender  is  her  face  ; 
Virginia  dearly  loved  this  son  ; 
And  now  his  glorious  course  is  run. 

Tearful,  she  bows  her  martial  crest. 

III. 

She  bows  her  in  the  midst  of  war, 
With  booming  cannon  rumbling  'round; 
'Mid  crash  of  musket,  and  the  sound 

Of  drum,  and  trumpet  clanging  wild. 
Fierce  cries  of  fight  rise,  near  and  far ; 
But  "  dulce  et  decorum  est," 
For  him  who  nobly  falls  to  rest ; 

Virginia  weeps  her  peerless  child. 


474  6TUART. 

IV. 

The  fair  young  wife  bewails  hxjr  lord, 
The  blooming  maidens  weep  for  him  ; 
Fierce  troopers'  eyes  with  tears  grow  dim, 

And  all  —  all  mourn  the  chieftain  dead. 
Place  by  his  side  his  trusty  sword ; 
Now  cross  his  hands  upon  his  breast, 
And  let  the  glorious  warrior  rest, 

Enshrouded  in  his  banner  red. 

V. 

No  more  our  courtly  cavalier 

Shall  lead  his  squadrons  to  the  fight ; 

No  more,  no  more  his  sabre  bright 

Shall  dazzling  flash  in  foeman's  eyes. 
No  more,  no  more  his  ringing  cheer 
Shall  fright  the  Northman  in  his  tent  j 
Nor  swift  as  eagle  in  descent, 

Shall  he  the  boastful  foe  surprise. 

VI. 

But  when  his  legions  meet  the  foe, 
With  gleaming  sabre  lifted  high, 
His  n.ame  shall  be  their  battle-cry, 

His  name  shall  steel  them  in  the  fray. 
And  many  a  Northman  'neath  the  blow 
Of  Southron  brand  shall  strew  the  ground. 
While  on  the  breeze  the  slogan  sound, 

*'  Stuart !  Stuart !  "  shall  ring  dismay. 


VII. 


Mourn,  mourn  along  thy  mountains  high 
Mourn,  mourn  along  thine  ocean  wave! 
Yirginia,  mourn  !     Thy  brave  of  brave 
Has  struck  for  thee  his  last  good  blow  ! 


"will  no  one  write  to  me?"  475 

O,  Southwind,  breathe  thy  softest  sigh! 
O,  young  moon,  shed  thy  gentlest  light ! 
Ye  silver  dews,  come  weep  to-night, 
To  honor  Stuart  —  lying  low. 


»t  'Ti'^i 


mm  n0  @iw  Wink  ia  Mt  ? " 


MAJ.  GEO.  MCKNIGHT. 


The  list  is  called  and,  one  by  one, 

The  anxious  crowd  now  melts  away. 
I  linger  still,  and  wonder  why 

JSTo  letter  comes  for  me  to-day. 
Are  all  my  friends  in  "  Dixie  ^'  dead  ? 

Or  would  they  all  forgotten  be  ? 
What  have  I  done?  what  have  I  said  ? 

That  no  one  writes  a  line  to  me. 
It's  very  queer  ! 

I  watch  the  mail,  each  weary  day ; 

AYith  anxious  eyes  the  list  o'er-run, 
And  envy  him  whose  name  is  called, 

But  love  him  more  who  gets  not  one ; 
For  I  can  sympathize  with  him, 

And  feel  how  keen  his  grief  must  be. 
Since  I'm  an  exile  from  my  home, 

And  no  one  writes  a  line  to  me : 
I  do  declare  I 


476 


THE   RECOMPENSE. 

Within  a  quiet,  happy  home, 

Far,  far  in  Dixie's  sanny  clime, 
There  dwells  a  quiet,  handsome  maid, 

AYho  wrote  to  me  in  by-gone  time ; 
l^ow,  others  from  this  dear  one  hear. 

In  tender  letters,  loving,  free, 
Yet,  here  I've  been  this  half-a-year. 

And  why  does  she  not  write  to  me  ? 
"We're  not  estrano-ed. 

"Will  no  one  write  me  just  a  line, 

To  say  that  I'm  remembered  yet? 
You  cannot  guess  how  much  delight 

I'd  feel  could  I  a  letter  get ! 
Could  I  but  hear  from  some  kind  friend, 

AYhose  face  I  ne'er  again  may  see  ; 
Will  some  one  now  my  anguish  end-? 

If  some  one  doesn't  write  to  me, 
I'll  get  exchanged ! 


C^^  ^ttompcns^. 


BY  CAPT.    J.    B.    CLARKE,  18tH  MISS.  INFANTRY. 


[During  the  great  famine  which  prevailed  in  Ireland  in  the  year  1846, 
a  meeting  was  held  in  the  city  of  Fredericksburg,  Va.,  for  the  purpose  of 
collecting  contributions  of  food  for  the  relief  of  the  Irish.  These  contri- 
butions were  very  liberal.  Some  corn,  not  suitable  for  exportation,  was 
sold,  and  other  corn  bought,  and  this  corn,  which  was  finally  sent  to 
Ireland,  was  grown  upon  the  same  field  over  which  "Meagher's  Irish 
Brigade"  made  its  memorable  charge  upon  the  '-stone-wall  "  at  the  foot  of 
Marye's  Hill  during  the  first  battle  of  Fredericksburg.] 


THE    RECOMPENSE.  477 

From  out  the  Irish  peasant's  hut 

There  came  a  doleful  wail, 
That  bursting  from  ten  thousand  lips, 

Swept  down  the  wintry  gale. 

'Twas  not  the  voice  of  anguish 

At  the  lowered  coffin's  sound  ; 
Though  everywhere  the  unburied  dead 

Lay  ghastly  on  the  ground. 

The  mother,  with  her  livid  lips, 

Her  pining  babe  caressed, 
And  glanced  with  love  unutterable 

Upon  her  sunken  breast. 

The  strong  man  staggered  to  and  fro, 

The  old  prepared  to  die ; 
And  love's  sweet  light  had  long  since  fled 

From  Beauty's  lustrous  eye. 

A  hundred  thousand  stalwart  arms 

Grew  weak  as  childhood's  hand  ; 
Great  God !  to  stay  the  fearful  curse 

That's  laid  u])on  the  land  ! 

The  trembling  peasant,  smit  with  fear, 

Doth  search  the  furrowed  soil ; 
Despair  is  in  his  heart  —  he  finds 

No  blessing  on  his  toil. 

The  foe  is  near  —  he  stalks  abroad 

In  country  and  in  town  ; 
But  Where's  the  arm  with  strength  to  strike 

The  phantom  legions  down  ? 

Then  through  the  jnilses  of  the  world 

A  pitying  throb  was  felt, — 
Wherever  flowed  the  generous  blood 

Of  Saxon  or  of  Celt. 


478  THE   RECOMPENSE. 

Virginia  caught  the  noble  flame 

From  mountain  to  the  sea, 
And  all  her  children  entered  in 

The  generous  rivalry. 

Eeneath  old  Stafford's  hills  there  stood  — 
(Who  knows  not  now  the  name  ?) 

A  city  that  hath  fully  f>aid 
The  costly  tax  of  Fame. 

The  boyhood  home  of  "Washington  — 

His  mother's  tomb  is  there  ; 
And  all  that  citv's  sons  are  brave, 

Her  daughters  pure  and  fair. 

Out  from  the  western  hills  there  stretched 

A  broad  and  fertile  plain, 
Whose  waving  wealth  they'd  reap'd  and  sent 

In  succor  o'er  the  main. 

Their  aid  was  not  in  polished  phrase 

And  words  of  soft  pretence  ; 
But  ample  gifts  from  ample  stores 

Struck  down  the  pestilence. 

Now  twenty  years  have  passed  away, 

And  by  the  hoof  of  hell 
The  fields  are  trampled,  and  the  town 

Is  wrecked  by  shot  and  shell. 

Eehold  !  Marye's  smooth  front  is  changed, 

A  frown  is  on  its  face  ; 
And  grimly  calm  the  Georgian  waits 

By  the  rock  wall  at  its  base. 

Hark  !  whence  that  wild  and  fierce  "  Huzza  "  ? 

What  flag  that  flaunts  before  ? 
'Tis  "  :Meao;h'rs  Brigade  !  "     And  Erin  thus 

Repays  the  debt  of  yore  ! 


THE   VOICES    OF    THE   WINDS.  479 

See  !  thinned  and  broken,  back  they  reel, 

And  loud  our  brave  boys  shout ; 
The  Seventh,  ha  !  their  shattered  ranks 

Recoil  in  final  rout ! 

I  pity  not  that  bloody  field, 

Where  Death,  where  anguish  rages, 
"Where  retribution  pays  at  last 

The  mercenary's  wages. 

Thus  ever  comes  the  ingrate's  doom, 

In  His  good  time  alone  ; 
"  Yengeance  is  mine  ;  I  will  repay  I  •' 

O  Lord,  Thy  will  be  done  1 


^t  a^0i«s  of  tlj«  mtnan. 


BY  MAJ.  S,  YATES  LEVY,  OF  GEORGIA. 


Folded  in  the  thoughtful  mantle, 
Night  around  the  wretched  binds  j 

Close  I  lay  and  eager  listened. 
To  "the  voices  of  the  winds" — 
Passing  by. 

As  they  came  from  every  quarter, 
Peeping  through  the  lattice  blinds, 

Like  the  ghosts  of  dead  affections, 
Came  the  secret-telling  winds  — 
Passing  by. 


480  THE    VOICES    OF    THE    WINDS. 

And  a  voice  within  my  bosom 
Answered  to  their  mystic  song; 

Answered  to  the  restless  breezes, 
As  they  floated  soft  along  — 
Passing  by. 

Mem'ry  waking  in  the  dreary, 
Gloomy  caverns  of  despair. 

Heard  the  whispers,  as  they  fluttered, 
In  the  night-enveloped  air  — 
Passing  by. 

"With  a  soft  and  thrilling  wailing, 
Spoke  the}^  of  affection's  blight; 

And  the  dews  of  gentle  Pity 

Trickled  from  the  eyes  of  night  — 
Passing  by. 

Mem'ry  struck  with  trembling  fingers, 
On  the  harp  of  "Long  Ago ; " 

And  the  notes,  each  asked  a  question, 
AVhat  the  bosom  yearned  to  know  — 
Passed  away. 

"  Where  are  all  the  friends  of  boj^hood, 
Spirits  fraught  with  life  and  glee  ?  " 

And  the  winds  in  whispers  answered, 
Like  the  murmurs  of  the  sea  — 
"  Passed  away." 

"  Where's  the  maiden  false  and  fickle. 
That  I  loved  and  cherished  madly  ? 

Is  she  happy  ?  "     But  the  breezes 

Whisp'ring,  answered,  sighing  sadly  - 
"  Passed  away." 

Then  in  grief,  I  wept  out  loudly. 
For  my  heart  was  full  of  x>ain ; 


THE   VOICES    OP   THE    WINDS.  481 

Echo,  sighing,  mourned  the  tidings, 
And  repeated  them  again  ; 

"  Passed  away !  " 

"Never  yet  hath  man  loved  woman, 

As  I  loved  you,  Eosalie  ; 
And  my  heart  is  sad  to  breaking, 

As  the  night  winds  breathe  to  me  — 
"  Passed  away/  " 

"  False  you  were,  and  fickle  truly. 

And  you  wronged  a  loving  soul ; 
But  I  weep  for  so  much  beauty  — 

So  much  grace  beyond  control  — 
"  Passed  away.' " 

All  was  dark  when  you  forsook  me  ; 

All  is  as  a  night  of  gloom  ; 
And  my  love  for  you  resembles 

Withered  flowers  on  a  tomb  — 
"  Passed  away." 

Thus,  when  night  is  all  around  me, 

Shielding  me  from  every  eye, 
Thus  I  mourn  and  grieve  in  silence, 

As  I  hear  the  night  winds  sigh  — 
"  Passed  away." 


21 


482  PRIVATES    IN    THE   RANKS. 


Irxfaaies  xti  iht  |ianhs. 


BY  LIEUT.  E.  C.  MCCARTHY. 


No  golden  bar  his  collar  wears, 

No  epaulette  or  star, 
With  glitter  bright  his  mind  to  charm, 

Amid  the  din  of  war. 
But  in  his  soul  the  sacred  light 
Of  Liberty  burns  clear  and  bright — 
The  Private  in  the  Eanks. 

And  not  to  win  the  bar  or  stripe. 

He  rushes  to  the  fight ; 
But  strong  of  arm,  and  stern  of  heart. 

He  battles  for  the  right. 
He  knows  no  voice  but  duty's  call. 
And  breasts  the  bullets  —  stand  or  fall 
The  Private  in  the  Ranks. 

All,  all  have  come — the  nation's  cry 
Has  throbbed  their  hearts  among ; 

And  mother,  wife  and  maiden  fair. 
Must  "  suffer  and  be  strong." 

The  sire,  with  scarce  a  year  to  live, 

The  boy  with  all  his  life  to  give. 
Are  Privates  in  the  Banks. 

And  when  the  quick,  electric  flash 

Proclaims  the  battle  done, 
How  many  hearts  exulting  throb, 

Another  victory  won  ! 
And  search  the  death  lists  eagerly, 
For  names  they'd  rather  die  than  see, 
Of  Privates  in  the  Banks  ! 


THE    TWO    SIDES    OF    THE   PRISON    QUESTION.  483 

The  meed  of  praise  we  gladly  give, 

To  all  who  dare  the  scars, 
And  care  but  little  what  they  wear, 

Coarse  gray,  or  stars  and  bars  ; 
But  most  our  love  to  those  belongs, 
Who  bravely  right  their  country's  wrongs, 
As  Privates  in  the  Hanks ! 


^t  Cfoa  Siiri>s  0f  ih  f  rismt  ^lustion. 


BY    COL.    B.  H.  JONES. 


[Correspondence  of  the  New  York  News,] 

West  Yirginia,  Dec.  8,  1865. 

For  months  we  have  borne  the  denunciations  of  our 
Northern  enemies,  based  on  our  alleged  cruel  treatment 
of  Federal  prisoners  during  the  war;  and  though  smart- 
ing under  the  wrongs  thus  done  us,  we  have  studiously 
held  our  peace,  for  we  thought  it  best  that  the  past  should, 
if  possible,  be  forgotten.  Our  silence,  however,  seems  to 
have  served  only  as  an  incentive  to  continued  and  in- 
creased malevolence  on  the  part  of  our  traducers  ;  and  we 
now  feel  that  we  should  be  false  to  our  manhood  were  we 
to  longer  passively  submit  to  their  assaults.  Abandoning, 
therefore,  the  meek  doctrine  of  continued  submission  to 
continued  wrong,  we  say,  "  an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth 
for  a  tooth  !  " 

Now,   those    who    "live   in    glass   houses   should   not 


484  THE   TWO    SIDES   OP   THE   PRISON    QUESTION. 

throw  stones."  If  the  South  had  her  Belle  Isle,  her  Libby 
and  her  Andersonville,  the  North  had  her  Camps  Douglas, 
Morton  and  Chase — her  Johnson's  Island  and  her  Rock 
Island,  her  Fort  Delaware,  Elmira  and  Point  Lookout,  and 
a  fair  investigation  north  of  Mason  and  Dixon's  Line, 
peradventure,  might  develop  the  equals  of  Winder,  and 
Wirz,  and  Turner,  granting  that  they  were  as  brutal  as 
represented.  Your  would-be-regarded  saintly  humani- 
tarians hold  uj)  their  hands  in  aifected  horror  at  the  idea  of 
"  dead-lines,"  as  though  they  were  diabolical  monstrosities 
of  Southern  origin.  But  we.  do  not  intend  that  you  shall 
cheat  yourselves  of  the  glory  of  such  an  invention.  Camp 
Chase  had  her  '* dead-line"  before  such  a  thing  was  dreamed 
of  in  the  South.  We  got  the  idea  from  you,  as  we  did 
slavery,  and  you  are  entitled  to  all  the  honors  and  emolu- 
ments of  the  original  patentee.  At  Point  Lookout,  Camp 
Douglas,  Camp  Morton,  Johnson's  Island,  and  indeed  at 
all  your  prisons,  you  had  "  dead-lines,"  and  at  all  of  them 
Confederate  prisoners  were  shot,  coolly  and  deliberately 
shot,  for  passing  these  lines.  It  was,  moreover,  not  an 
unusual  thing  for  Confederate  prisoners  to  be  fired  on,  and 
either  killed  or  wounded  while  visiting  the  "sinks"  at. 
night. 

I  know  that  at  Johnson's  Island  one  officer  was  killed 
while  quietly  standing  in  the  door  of  his  quarters;  and 
two  of  my  messmates,  Lieut.  Dillard  of  Mississippi,  and 
Lieut.  Inman  of  North  Carolina,  were  badly  wounded  one 
night  in  18(j4,  by  the  same  ball :  the  first  in  the  arm  while 
passing  to  his  bunk,  the  second  in  the  shoulder  while  asleep 
in  his  bunk.  There  was  no  excuse  for  this  outrage,  as  the 
lights  were  out  and  perfect  quiet  prevailed  in  the  room. 
Next  day,  the  commanding  officer  came  in,  got  the  names 
of  witnesses,  and  intimated  that  the  matter  would  be 
investigated,  but  we  heard  no  more  of  it.  It  was  common 
for  our  rooms  to  be  fired  into  under  the  pretext  that  our 
lights  were  burning,  when  it  was  only  the  reflection  upon 


THE   TWO    SIDES    OP   THE   PRISON    QUESTION.  485 

our  windows  from  the  sentry  lamps,  and  was  repeatedly 
explained  to  both  officers  and  men,  without  avail.  Yet  we 
were  assured  by  the  commandant  that  the  men  were  ex- 
pressly charged  not  to  fire  at  lights,  but  to  call  the  officer 
of  the  guard.  When  we  would  call  to  the  sentinel  that 
our  lights  were  out,  and  explain  that  it  was  merely  the  re- 
flection from  the  lamps,  the  answer  would  not  unfrequently 

be,  "  You   are   a   d d  liar !  "     I  frequently  heard  the 

vilest  epithets  ever  uttered  by  human  mouths,  applied 
to  our  officers'  by  the  guard,  upon  slight  provocations, 
and  sometimes  when  there  was  no  provocation  at  all. 
I  knew  this  done  in  one  instance  by  a  Lieutenant,  a 
Dutchman,  in  the  Federal  service,  while  calling  the  roll  in 
a  certain  block.  He  applied  the  offensive  language  to  the 
whole  company,  because  some  laughed  at  his  awkward  pro- 
nunciation of  names,  whereupon  a  Confederate  Major  stepped 
up  to  him,  and  assured  him  if  he  dared  repeat  it  he  would 
knock  his  teeth  down  his  throat.  It  was  not  repeated.  As 
a  general  rule,  however,  the  officers  were  courteous  to  us. 
We  were  rarely  maltreated  by  those  who  had  been  to  the 
front ;  but  the  men  of  the  One  Hundred  and  Twenty-eighth 
Ohio  (with  a  few  honorable  exceptions,)  had  never 
heard  a  hostile  gun,  and  were  especially  enlisted  for 
guard  duty,  appeared  to  derive  a  peculiar  pleasure  from 
the  abuse  of  helpless  prisoners;  it  afforded  so  safe  and  ad- 
mirable an  opportunity  for  an  exhibition  of  their  personal 
courage,  and  loyalty  to  the  "  Old  Flag." 

Again,  we  were  not  allowed  (until  after  the  surrender  of 
Lee,)  under  any  circumstances,  to  have  oral  communica- 
tion with  relations  or  friends.  Extreme  illness, —  even  ly- 
ing at  the  "  point  of  death  "  —  would  not  open  the  gate  for 
the  admission  of  a  brother  or  a  sister,  a  father,  or  mother, 
or  wife.  I  have  known  a  sister,  a  mother,  a  wife,  who  had 
traveled  hundreds  of  miles,  on  reaching  Johnson's  Island, 
denied  the  privilege  of  an  interview  with  a  brother,  a  son, 
or  a  husband  ;  and  I  have  seen  the  "  loved  ones  "  standing 


f 

486  THE   TWO    SIDES   Or    THE    PRISON    QUESTION. 

far  apart,  gazing  at  each  other  and  weeping  as  though  their 
hearts  would  break,  but  not  a  word  were  they  allowed  to 
exchange,  not  a  sign  were  they  permitted  to  make.  Under 
such  circumstances,  though  perhaps  a  stranger  to  all  the 
parties,  the  tears  of  sympathy  have  welled  up  in  my  own 
eyes;  and  I  was  not  ashamed  of  them,  for  I  too  had 
"loved  ones"  away  in  "Dixie"!  I  learn  that  no  such 
rule  prevailed  in  Southern  prisons. 

Another  wrong :  the  sutlers,  when  allowed  to  sell  at  all, 
were  allowed  to  practice  upon  the  prisoners  the  most  out- 
rageous extortion.  They  realized  from  two  to  three  hun- 
dred per  cent,  upon  their  sales.  Of  course  they  made  im- 
mense fortunes  in  a  very  short  time ;  and  they  were  often 
changed.  "Why  ?  I  cannot  tell,  unless  it  was  that  as  many 
as  possible  might  fatten  upon  our  misfortunes. 

I  come  now  to  the  most  painful  feature  connected  with 
our  imprisonment,  that  of  starvation  ;  starvation,  not  in  a 
land  desolated  and  seared  by  invasion ;  not  in  a  land  where 
the  invader  had  proclaimed  and  carried  out  the  policy  of 
destroying  every  grain  of  wheat  and  every  ounce  of  meat, 
and  everything  that  tended  to  its  production  ;  not  in  a  land 
whose  women  and  children  were  already  perishing  for 
bread,  but  starvation  in  a  land  that  flowed  with  milk  and 
honey,  starvation  in  a  land  that  had  not  only  an  abundance, 
but  a  superabundance  even  of  the  luxuries  of  life ! 

I  think  it  was  in  November,  1864,  that  the  sutler  was 
ordered  not  to  sell  any  more  provisions  to  prisoners,  and 
we  were  not  allowed  to  receive  any,  except  from  near  rela- 
tives in  case  of  sickness,  and  that  after  an  examination  by 
the  chief  surgeon  and  upon  his  recommendation.  Up  to 
that  period  those  who  had  friends  outside  had  fared  well, 
and  had  been  enabled  to  minister  to  the  necessities  of  their 
fellow-prisoners  who  had  not ;  for,  to  their  eternal  honor 
be  it  said,  there  were  thousands  in  the  United  States  who 
were  liberal  and  generous  toward  Southern  prisoners  al- 
most to  a  fault.      May  God  reward  them ;  we  never  can 


THE   TWO    SIDES    OP   THE   PRISON    QUESTION.  487 

though  each  of  us  had  the  wealth  of  Croesus  and  were  to 
live  a  thousand  years  !  But  with  "the  orders  alluded  to 
came  suffering,  oh,  what  suffering  1  We  were  confined  for 
months  strictly  to  prison  rations.  No  sugar,  no  coffee,  no 
tea,  only  bread  and  salt  beef,  or  salt  pork,  or  salt  fish,  the 
latter  as  poor  as  poverty,  and  as  unnutritious  as  pine  shav- 
ings, varied  occasionally  with  fresh  beef,  but  never  more 
than  two-thirds  enough  of  either.  Occasionally  we  would 
get  one  onion,  or  one  potato  each,  and  an  ounce  or  so  of 
hominy.  Many  would  consume  the  whole  at  one  meal ; 
others  thought  it  more  wise  to  divide  it  into  two  or  three 
meals,  but  all  were  hungry  continually,  Oh  !  it  is  a  terri- 
ble thing  to  be  hungry  from  day  to  day,  from  week  to 
week,  from  month  to  month,  to  be  always  hungry !  It  is 
fearful  to  see  three  thousand  men  cooped  up  and  undergo- 
ing such  an  ordeal !  Should  it  be  a  matter  of  surprise  that 
men  dwindled  from  200  to  140  and  100  pounds ;  that  their 
eyes  had  a  strange  and  eager  expression ;  that  they  grew 
pale,  cadaverous  ;  that  they  walked  with  an  unsteady  gait ; 
that  they  all  talked  continually  of  "  something  to  eat "  ; 
of  the  good  dinner,  or  breakfast,  or  suj^per  they  had  at 
times  and  places  that  seemed  very  long  ago  and  very  far 
off;  that  they  slept  but  to  dream  of  sitting  down  to  tables 
groaning  with  rich  viands,  where  they  ate  and  ate,  and 
still  could  not  be  satisfied ;  that  with  miserly  care  they 
picked  up  every  crumb ;  that  they  pounded  up  old  bones 
and  boiled  them  over  and  over,  until  they  Avere  as  white 
as  the  driven  snow ;  that  they  fished  in  the  swill  barrel  at 
the  prison  hospital ;  that  they  greedily  devoured  rats  and 
cats ;  that  they  resorted  to  all  manner  of  devices  and  tricks 
to  cheat  the  surgeon  out  of  a  certificate  ;  that  they  became 
melancholy  and  dejected;  that  they  fell  an  easy  prey  to 
disease  and  death ?  Ah!  there  is  many  a  poor  fellow  in 
his  grave  on  Johnson's  Island  to-day  who  would  not  be 
there  had  he  been  allowed  wholesome  food  and  enough  of 
it.      Thousands  died  from  over-eating,  immediately  after 


488  THE   TWO    SIDES    OF    THE   PRISON    QUESTION. 

their  release  from  Northern  prisons,  and  thousands  have 
returned  to  their  homes  with  their  health  prematurely  im- 
paired by  long  starvation. 

Kor  were  the  authorities  ignorant  of  this  suffering. 
The  Confederate  surgeons,  in  the  prison  at  Johnson's  Isl- 
and, met  and  prepared  a  statement  and  sent  it  to  the  com- 
mandant, in  which  they  feelingly  and  truthfully  depicted 
our  condition.  They  showed  from  tables  prepared  by  sci- 
entific men,  what  quantity  of  a  certain  character  of  food 
was  actually  necessary  to  sustain  healthy  human  existence, 
what  was  allowed  by  the  order  of  the  Commissary  Gen- 
eral of  Prisons,  and  what  we  received ;  and  that  the  latter 
was  totally  insufficient.  A  copy  of  this  paper  was  also 
sent  out  in  some  way  and  found  its  way  to  the  columns  of 
The  News,  but  all  produced  no  change  in  the  treatment  of 
prisoners  ;  and  The  Sandusky  Register,  edited  by  a  couple 
of  Dutchmen,  with  unpronouncable  names,  as  if  to  add  in- 
sult to  injury,  boasted  of  the  humane  treatment  awarded 
us  by  the  United  States  Government,  and  cited  in  proof  of 
the  same  that  the  sum  of,  I  think,  $30,000,  constituting  a 
prison  fund,  had  been  realized  from  the  sale  of  rations  that 
we  had  been  unable  to  consume,  and  was  then  in  charge 
of  the  commandant  of  the  Island.  How  was  this  done? 
It  must  have  been  by  shortening  our  rations  before  they 
were  sent  in  to  us,  for  there  never  was  any  surplus  to  send 
out.  We  then  were  systematically  cheated,  stinted  and 
starved  to  raise  this  prison  fund  of  $30,000 ;  and  what  was 
done  with  it  ?  It  was  taken  out  of  our  stomachs ;  it  never 
was  put  on  our  backs  ;  what  became  of  it  ? 

This  same  sheet,  which  often  applied  to  us  the  epithets, 
"Devils,  demons"  and  "fiends,"  frequently  alluded  (in 
disparagement  of  the  Confederate  G-overnment)  to  the 
fact  that  we  were  all  comfortably  —  many  finely  dressed 
as  we  passed  through  the  city  to  be  exchanged,  or,  when 
released  at  the  close  of  the  war.  True,  all  were  comfort- 
ably, many  finally  dressed  on   such   occasions;  but  how 


THE   TWO    SIDES    OF   THE    PRISON    QUESTION.  489 

came  we  by  such  clothing?     Not  as  The  Register  made  its 
dupes  believe,  by  the  liberality  of  the  United  States  Gov- 
ernment,  bat  through   the   active   sympathy   of  outside 
friends.     They  sent  us  the  clothing,  and  we  went  meanly 
clad  in  prison,  that  we  might  present  a  respectable  appear- 
ance should  we  return  to  "  Dixie."     I  saw  Confederate  of- 
ficers made  to  stand  on  the  head  of  a  barrel  placed  near  the 
main   o-ate,  and  between  the  "  dead  line  "and  the  prison 
wall  for  what  were  surely  trivial  offenses.     I  suppose  it 
was  intended  to  degrade  them  in  the  eyes  of  their  fellows, 
but  it  only  secured  for  them  our  sympathy.     As  well  as  I 
now  remember  Lieut.  John  U.  Shorter,  a  son  or  nephew 
of  the  Hon.  John   Gr.   Shorter,  was  one  of  the  men  thus 
punished.     He  is  a  gentleman  in  the  most  exalted  sense  of 
the  term,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in  naming  him,  for  I 
know  he  is  not  ashamed  of  his  martyrdom. 

As  to  fires  :  by  the  strictest  economy  we  managed  to  be 
tolerably  comfortable  last  winter,  notwithstanding  in  many 
instances  from  50  to  60  men  had  the  use  of  only  one  stove  ; 
but  there  was  much  suffering  the  winter  preceding ;  the 
wood  furnished  being  inferior  in  quality  and  deficient  in 
quantity..  The  ofiicers  had  either  to  be  in  their  bunks  or 
"  double  quick  "  to  and  fro  in  their  quarters  to  keep  from 
freezing.  The  weather  was  so  severe  that  some  were 
frost-bitten. 

I  make  no  charsce  against  the  commandant.  I  do  not 
know  to  what  extent  his  inclinations  were  hampered  by 
instructions.  I  must  say  that  his  personal  bearing  toward 
us  was  always  courteous,  and  that  he  seemed  at  least  to 
feel  kindly.     The  Chief  Surgeon  was  freezingly  polite. 

"  We  did  not  like  you,  Dr.  Fell  : 
The  reason  why  ?  we  need  not  tell, 
But  this  we'd  have  you  know  right  well ; 
We  did  not  like  you,  Dr.  Fell !  " 

The  Assistant  Surgeon  was  a  humane  gentleman.     He 
could  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  appeals  of  a  suffering 
21* 


490  THE   TWO    SIDES    OF    THE   PRISON    QUESTION. 

brother-man.     God  gave  him  a  heart  of  flesh,  not  of  mar- 
ble, and  filled  it  with  the  "  milk  of  human  kindness."     I 
have  stated  facts  that  can   be  sustained   by  a  "  cloud  of* 
witnesses,"  and  they  are  gentlemen  of  excellent  intelligence 
and  worth. 

Such  having  been  the  experience  of  commissioned  offi- 
cers, from  third  lieutenants  to  major  generals,  at  Johnson's 
Island,  how  did  our  private  soldiers  fare  as  prisoners  of  war? 
One  Instance  only,  by  way  of  answer.  A  North  Carolina 
regiment,  captured  at  Cumberland  G-ap,  went  into  Camp 
Douglas  500  strong.  Upward  of  200  of  this  number  had 
diedthereup  to  March,  1865!  I  learned  thisfrom  the  officers 
of  the  regiment  at  Johnson's  Island,  who  were  in  regular 
communication  with  their  men  and  had  noted  each  death. 
Had  these  men'been  well  cared  for?  I  have  been  also 
told  by  men  who  were  confined  at  Kock  Island  that  sys- 
tematic starvation  was  there  resorted  to,  to  force  them  to 
take  the  "  oath ;  "  it  was  the  oath,  or  death ! 

This  is  "a  game  at  which  two  can  play!"  Doubt- 
less there  were  instances  of  bad  treatment  at  the  South, 
and  the  guilty  parties  deserve  condemnation,  for  there  is 
nothing  more  infamous  than  the  abuse  of  a  helpless  pris- 
oner, and  no  one  but  a  brutal  coward  would  be  guilty  of 
such  an  outrage  upon  humanity  ;  but  the  North  is  not  the 
party  to  bring  such  accusations  against  us.  Her  withers 
are  not  unwrung.  Let  her  get  the  beam  out  of  her  own 
eye.  The  world  will  judge  between  us  ;  so  will  God.  We 
fear  not  the  judgment  of  either.  We  had  provocations 
that  you  never  had.  We  were  invaded,  wrongfully  invad- 
ed, and  we  believed  that  we  were  right.  Our  orchards  and 
fields  were  desolated ;  our  cities,  towns,  villages,  and 
country  houses  sacked  and  given  to  the  flames  ;  our  per- 
sonal property,  even  to  our  very  heir-looms,  forced  from 
us,  and  either  destroyed  before  our  eyes  or  sent  North  to 
grace  the  parlors  or  adorn  the  persons  of  those  who  waged 
war  upon  us ;  our  servants,  raised  and  nurtured  under  our 


THE    TWO    SIDES    OF   THE   PRISON    QUESTION.  491 

own  roofs,  were  estranged  from  us  and  armed  for  our  de- 
struction ;  our  sisters  and  daughters,  our  wives  and 
mothers,  were  insulted  and  violated,  and  our  greyhaired 
sires  and  grandsires  beaten,  and  even  killed,  by  a  soldiery, 
thousands  of  whom,  stimulated  by  love  of  gold,  or  still 
more  hellish  lust,  swarmed  from  the  loathsome  sinks  of 
European  cities  to  war  upon  a  people  who  had  never  in- 
jured them,  but  who,  when  gaunt  famine  clutched  with 
his  long  fingers  at  the  throats  of  their  starving  thousands, 

'*  With  ample  gifts,  from  ample  stores. 
Struck  down  the  pestilence." 

And  how  did  we  avenge  these  wrongs  ?  When  our  vic- 
torious army  of  half-clothed  and  half-starved  men  swept 
from  the  Potomac  through  Maryland  and  Pennsylvania  to 
Gettysburg,  was  its  line  of  march  a  broad  belt  of  desola- 
tion and  misery  like  that  of  Sherman  through  Georgia, 
South  and  North  Carolina?  Was  it  preceded  by  thou- 
sands of  affrighted  and  flying  women  and  children  ?  Was 
it  followed  by  clouds  of  smoke  by  day  and  pillars  of  fire 
by  night  ?  Were  your  dwellings  robbed  and  your  women 
abused  ?  Did  Eobert  E.  Lee  order  that  the  rich  Yalley 
of  the  Cumberland  should  be  so  scathed  and  scorched  by 
fire  and  sword  that  "a  crow,  in  attempting  to  fly  over  it, 
should  be  under  the  necessity  of  carrying  its  haversack  of 
rations?"  No,  no;  he  did  what  was  in  strict  accord  with 
his  entire  life.  He  ordered  that  the  private  property  and 
the  persons  of  non-combatants  should  be  scrupulously  re. 
spected,  and  all  excesses  punished,  and  it  was  done.  He 
never  put  in  the  degrading  plea  that  he  could  not  control 
his  men.  Not  a  house  was  wantonly  destroyed,  not  a  citi- 
zen was  abused,  and  the  money  was  paid  or  tendered  for 
whatever  was  taken,  as  a  matter  of  necessity.  Even  the 
chagrin  of  failure  could  not  make  him  mean ;  he  returned, 
as  he  had  gone,  with  clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart ! 

But  when,  long  after,  finding  you  had  not,  and  would 
not  appreciate  such  magnanimity,  and  driven  to  despera- 


492  THE   TWO    SIDES   OF   THE   PRISON    QUESTION. 

tion,  we  burned  one  little  town  in  retaliation  for  scores,  if 
not  hundreds,  how  did  it  affect  j'our  people?     What  be- 
came of  Majors  A.  C.  Bailey  and  Henry  King  Cochrane? 
It  is  said  that,  lingering  behind  their  comrades,  they  were 
set  upon  and  literally  beaten  to  death  by  the  infuriated 
citizens  of  Chambersburg  !     At  any  rate,  they  have  not 
been  heard  of  from  .that  day  to  this,  though  their  bereaved 
families  have  left  no  stone  unturned  ;  and  Northern  papers 
stated  at  the  time  that  such  had  been  the  fate  of  the  two 
Confederate  officers.     JSTorthern  papers  teemed  with  de- 
nunciations of  the  diabolical  ruffianism  of  McCauseland* 
The  Governor  of  Pennsylvania  offered  a  large  reward  for 
his  apprehension,  even  after  the  surrender  of  our  arD;iie8, 
and  he  is  now  an  exile  from  his  country.  •  He  did  only 
what  Northern  commanders  had  done  scores  of  times,  and 
yet   no  word   of  rebuke   or  condemnation  was   uttered 
against  them  by  Northern  Eadicals,  nor  one  sentiment  of 
sympathy  and  commiseration  expressed  for  the  wretched 
sufferers.     Had  we  destroyed  the  last  dollar's  worth  of 
property  in  the  entire  State  of  Pennsylvania,  and  driven 
the  last  inhabitant  thereof,  freezing  and  starving  from  its 
borders,  while  it  would   have  been   a  terrible  wrong  in 
Itself,  still,  you  would  have  had  no  right  to  complain,  for  we 
should  not,  even  then,  been  anything  like  even  with  you  ! 
But  you  say  we  are  "  rebels,"  and  as  such,  have  no  rights. 
I  deny  it.     As  "rebels,"  we  had  rights;  the  rights  of  a 
common  humanity!     We  were  your  brethren.     Our  blood 
had  mingled  on  common  battle-fields;  we  had  contributed 
to  your  wealth,  and  ours  had  been  a  common  glory.     But 
you  say  we  did  wrong  to  rebel.     Eussia  said  the  same  of 
the  Poles,  Austria  of  the  Hungarians,  Great  Britain  of  the 
American  Colonies.     But  grant  that  we  did  wrong,  what 
man  of  you  can  say,  "  I  never  did  wrong !  "     Who,  then, 
has  a  right  to  cast  a  stone  ?     Did  we  not  believe  we  were 
right  ?     We  point  to  our  gallant  dead,  our  maimed  living, 
our  widows  and  orphans,  our  desolated  land,  our  ruined 


THE    TWO    SIDES    OF   THE   PRISON    QUESTION.  493 

fortunes !  We  risked  all ;  we  sacrificed  all ;  we  did  it 
cheerfully !  Do  meu  thus  act,  unless  they  believe  their 
cause  a  just  one?  Is  not  such  sincerity  worthy  of  some 
respect  ?  And  if  it  was  wrong  in  us  to  burn  one  little 
town  in  the  North,  was  it  not  wrong  in  y^i  to  burn  one 
hundred  towns  in  the  South  ?  And  if  the  enlightened,  re- 
fined and  Christian  people  at  the  North  became  so  exas- 
perated by  the  burning  of  one  town,  what  might  reason- 
ably have  been  expected,  of  course,  of  unenlightened,  ud- 
christianized  barbarians,  such  as  you  say  we  are,  under 
the  influence  of  scores  of  similar  outrages? 

"Oh,  the  beauty  of  Christian  charity  — 
Christian  charity  under  the  sun  !  " 

But  my  task  is  not  a  grateful  one ;  it  is  one  of  compul- 
sion. If  we  erred,  most  grievously  have  we  answered  for 
it.  We  are  tired  of  wars  and  fighting ;  tired  of  strife  and 
bickering.  We  have  suffered  as  people  never  suffered  be- 
fore. Our  land  is  a  land  of  mournins;  and  desolation. 
We  have  been  scathed  and  riven  as  it  were  by  the  light- 
nings and  thunderbolts  of  God.  We  have  confessed  our 
inability  longer  to  contend  with  the  powers  wielded 
against  us.  We  have  laid  down  our  arms.  We  have  re- 
turned to  the  ashes  of  our  once  happy  homes.  We  ac- 
knowledge the  supremacy  of  the  government  of  the 
United  States ;  we  are  willing  to  yield  obedience  to  its 
constitution  and  its  laws.  Let  us  alone,  that  we  may  re- 
cuperate our  exhausted  energies !  Let  us  alone,. that  we 
may  repair  our  ruined  fortunes!  Let  us  alone,  that  we 
may  clear  away  the  rubbish,  and  build  again  upon  our  old 
hearthstones  !  Let  us  alone,  that  we  may  weep  over  the 
graves  of  our  slaughtered  kinsmen  ! 

If  the  war  was  a  crime,  does  not  some  of  the  guilt  lie 
at  your  own  doors  ?  Answer  this  as  you  must  at  last 
answer  it  at  the  bar  of  the  Great  Judge!  Doubtless  we 
did  many  wrong  things  ;    are  your  hands  clean  ?     Have 


494  THE    TWO    SIDES    OF    THE    PRISON    QUESTION. 

you  no  sense  of  justice,  no  charity,  no  magnanimity?  Is 
it  generous  ;  is  it  manly,  is  it  Christian  to  abuse  a  fallen 
brother  ;  to  laugh  at  his  calamity ;  to  exult  over  his  mis- 
fortune ? 

We  want  ^ace — permanent,  lasting  peace.  Do  you? 
or  are  your  professions  false  and  deceitful  ?  If  you  do, 
then  cease  reviling  us !  If  you  do,  cease  your  jeers  and 
tauntings !  If  you  do,  accept  the  extended  hand  of  your 
prostrate  but  still  noble  brother !  If  you  do,  welcome 
him  again  to  the  old  homestead  and  the  old  hearthstone  ! 
If  you  do,  cease  to  throw  obstacles  in  the  path  that  the 
President  has  marked  out  for  reconstruction  and  recon- 
ciliation, and  aid  him  in  his  patriotic  effort !  If  you  do, 
catch  at  what  you  must  know  is  the  inclination  of  the 
President  with  regard  to  Jefferson  Davis,  that  the  doors 
of  his  prison  may  open,  and  the  tottering,  heart-broken 
man  go  home  to  his  impoverished  and  weeping  wife  and 
children,  and  no  longer  celebrate  the  anniversaries  of 
your  victories  and  our  final  and  irretrievable  fall ;  for 
they  were  victories  over  brethren !  If  you  do,  erect  no 
monuments  on  the  fields  of  our  disasters !  If  you  do,  lay 
by  your  banners,  weather-beaten,  blood-stained  and  battle- 
torn.  Place  thera  in  a  corner  of  some  dark  o-arret.  lock 
the  door  and  fling  the  key  away!  Finally,  if  you  do, 
come  now,  help  us  to  fling  the  dark  pall  of  oblivion  upon 
the  sickening  drama  of  the  last  five  years,  never  to  be  re- 
moved ! 

Thus,  may  we  have  an  enduring  peace.  A  peace  that 
will,  with  the  lapse  of  time,  efface  all  traces  of  the  sorrows 
and  sufferings  of  the  present  and  the  past.  A  peace  that 
will  cause  our  destroyed  towns  and  cities  to  rise  phoenix- 
like from  their  blackened  and  charred  ruins  and  smolder- 
ing ashes.  A  peace  that  shall  wave  the  ready  harvest  on 
fields  that  yesterday  bristled  with  revengeful  steel,  and 
shook  beneath  the  tread  of  embattled  hosts.  A  peace 
under  whose  re-invigorating  and  re-vivifying  influence,  we 
may  without  presumption  aspire  to  be 


COUSIN  Maggie's  posey.  495 

"Amid  the  subject  seas, 
That  thunder  round  our  rocky  coast,  set  up 
At  once  the  wonder,  terror  and  delio-ht 
Of  distant  nations."  ° 

But,  if  all  your  protestations  of  a  desire  for  harmony 
and  love  for  the  Union  be  wicked  lies;  if  you  are  not 
sufficiently  glutted  with  blood  and  vengeance;  if  you 
would  make  those  who  were  once  our  slaves  our  masters 
now;  if  you  would  treat  us  as  subjects  rather  than  equals- 
If  you  would  sacrifice  our  little  remaining  property  our 
wives  and  our  children  upon  the  accursed  altar  of  avarice 
and  ambition ;  then  there  can  be  no  real  peace,  no  real 
Union.  With  you,  then,  O  Eadicals  of  the  North,  rests 
the  tremendous  responsibility  of  our  national  future 


Not  all  the  spells  of  magic  lore. 

The  wands  of  fay  or  elf. 
Could  exercise  one-half  the  power 

Of  magic  o'er  myself, 
That  lives  within  this  posey  sweet. 

Attached  to  Maggie's  card, 
An  offering  of  sympathy. 

Of  friendship  and  regard. 

If  pierced  by  sorrow's  rankling  dart, 

I  e'er  should  falter  —  then 
This  heart's-ease  will  revive  ray  heart 

And  give  it  strength  again. 


496  THE   TRIPLE-BARRED  BANNER. 

For  every  festering  wound  of  grief, 

A  balm  this  flower  will  be ; 
My  heart  will  find  a  sure  relief 

In  Maggie's  sympathy. 

Though  cold  and  drear  the  world  may  seem, 

Though  clouded  o'er  it  prove, 
This  sweet  geranium  brings  a  gleam 

Of  sun-shine  from  '•  Pine  Grove." 
And  in  that  realm  with  day-dreams  fraught, 

This  pretty  rose-bud  opes 
What  flights  of  bold,  unspoken  thought, 

AYhat. untold  fears  and  hopes! 

This  posey  sweet  will  be  a  shield, 

A  talismanic  charm, 
In  prison,  march,  or- battle-field, 

Averting  ill  or  harm. 
To  elevate,  to  cheer  my  heart, 

And  all  its  sorrows  lift. 
To  glad  my  spirit  is  the  part 

Of  cousin  Maggie's  gift ! 


Cl^^  Criplc-lGiuTctr  §amur. 


COL.    W.    S.    HAWKINS. 


Oh,  Triple-Barred  Banner !  the  badge  of  the  free ! 
What  coward  would  falter  in  duty  to  thee ! 
Oh,  Southerners,  onward,  till  freedom  be  won. 
And  our  eagle  in  pride  greets  the  glance  of  the  sun ! 


TO    THE    CONFEDERATE   DEAD.  497 

The  daughters  of  South-land  are  kneeling  in  prayer, 
That  thy  folds  ever  triumph  in  battle's  fierce  glare; 
Then  a  welcome  to  sufferings,  to  prisons  and  scars, 
And  Freedom's  sweet  smiles  to  the  Stars  and  the  Bars  ! 

Oh,  Triple-Barred  Banner!  the  dread  of  the  foe, 

When  thou  art  advancing  his  might  is  laid  low; 

No  stripes  now  degrade  thee,  no  symbol  of  shame ; 

All  pure  are  thy  lustres,  all  peerless  thy  fame; 

Nor  weep  not  nor  faint  as  the  sad  hours  roll, 

They  may  shackle  the  body  —  they  cannot  the  soul. 

Then  welcome  to  troubles,  to  battles  and  scars. 

And  Freedom's  bright  crown  to  the  Stars  and  the  Bars ! 

Oh,  Triple-Barred  Banner  !  our  joy  and  our  pride  ! 
Though  scorned  by  invaders,  by  tyrants  decried, 
Fling  forth  thy  proud  folds  from  mountain  to  sea. 
For  the  hearts  of  the  South-land  are  beating  for  thee. 
And  our  brothers  are  arming  with  nerve  and  with  will, 
To  strike  till  the  Northman  is  humbled  and  still. 
Then  a  welcome  to  woundings,  to  prisons  and  scars. 
And  Freedom's  sweet  smile  to  the  Stars  and  the  Bars ! 


^0  i])t  Conftircrafc  S^ah. 


COL.    W.    W.    FONTAINE. 


Comrades,  sleep  your  sleep  of  glory, 
In  your  narrow  soldier  graves. 

Though  the  flag  you  gave  to  story 
On  the  breeze  no  longer  waves. 


498  TO   THE   CONFEDERATE   DEAD. 

G-ently  sleep,  though  hopes  most  cherished 
Yanished  when  you  nobly  died ; 

Though  your  country's  cause  has  perished, 
You  for  her  the  world  defied. 

With  our  trusted  falchion  broken,. 

Naught  to  ward  a  hostile  blow, 
Festering  sink  the  insults  spoken. 

Insults  to  a  fallen  foe ! 
Dastard  insults !     Aye,  we  feel  them ! 

Tingling  veins  and  faces  burn, 
And  the  anguished  tear  conies  bursting, 

That  no  blow  we  may  return  : 

That  the  gallant  crimson  banner 

Now  is  trailing  on  the  ground  ; 
That  its  thousand  true-heart  followers 

Lie  beneath  the  grassy  mound  ; 
That  our  pure  and  patriot  chieftain 

In  a  fortress  prison  pines  ; 
While  in  every  town  and  hamlet 

Steel  of  hated  foeman  shines ! 

Yictors  of  a  hundred  battles, 

With  the  death-wound  in  the  breast, 
By  the  infant,  ere  it  prattles, 

Shall  your  honored  graves  be  drest! 
Children's  children  shall  adore  you  ; 

Yet  your  sunny  South  be  free, 
And  the  germ  your  blood  has  watered, 

Shall  become  a  glorious  tree. 

Yes,  with  tramp  of  martial  legions 
Shall  our  hills  and  plains  resound  ; 

Lees  and  Jacksons,  be  their  leaders, 
Stuarts,  Ashbys,  there  be  found ; 

And  the  blood-red  banner  blazing 
With  the  starry  Southern  cross. 


THE  LOVED  AND  LOST.  499 


O'er  the  hero  sons  of  herpes, 
Shall  again  in  victory  toss. 

Comrades,  sleep  your  sleep  of  glory ! 

Though  the  flag  you  gave  to  war 
Now  is  trailing,  soiled  and  gory, 

Chained  beneath  the  victor's  car. 
Yet  your  sons  that  chain  will  sever, 

Yet  that  flag  uplift  with  prayer, 
"Where  its  stars  shall  gleam  forever, 

Grandly  through  the  Southern  air  I 

Johnson's  Island^  June^  1865. 


%\t  f  otob  anb  f  ost- 


BY  COL.   B.  H.  JONES. 


"  I  HAVE  a  rose  —  a  faded  rose, 

Sweeter  than  many  a  fairer  flower ; 

It  will  not  bud  where  zeyhyr  blows, 
It  will  not  freshen  in  the  shower ; 
Where  is  the  giver  ?     Oh,  where  ? 

"  I  have  a  sunny  tress  of  hair. 

Fair  was  the  brow  o'er  which  it  waved, 
Undimmed  by  time,  unchanged  by  care, 

A  thing  that  love  for  mem'ry  saved 
Where  is  the  wearer  ?     Oh,  where  ? 


500  THE   LOVED    AND   LOST. 

"I  have  a  heart  —  a  lonely  heart, 

O'er  which  at  evening,  stealing,  comes 

A  voice  that  makes  the  teiar-drop  start, 
As  through  the  past  fond  mem'ry  roams ; 
"Where  is  the  speaker ?     Oh,  where?" 

Hethinks  that  breathings  low  and  soft, 
As  winds  of  Spring  o'er  banks  of  bloom, 

Through  all  my  pensive  being  waft. 
And  whisper  of  a  cloudless  home. 

Where  is  the  whisp'rer  ?     Oh,  where  ? 

The  hand  that  gave  that  faded  rose, 
The  brow  where  waved  that  sunny  hair, 

The  voice  that  well  my  spirit  knows. 
And  whisperer  safe  in  Heaven  are ; 
There  is  the  loved  one  !     Oh,  there  ! 

I  soon  shall  clasp  that  friendly  hand, 
I  soon  shall  kiss  that  angel  brow ; 

Shall  answer  in  that  sunny  land. 
Voices  that  have  no  answer  now. 

There  shall  I  greet  thee  !     Oh,  there ! 

We'll  range  the  fields  of  azure  blue ; 

We'll  know  no  parting,  grief,  nor  pain  j 
We'll  sip  of  love's  immortal  dew. 

That  sparkles  all  that  verdured  plain ; 
No  more  sadness  ever  there  I 

Then  welcome.  Death,  thy  friendly  dart ! 

Welcome  the  winding-sheet  and  clod ! 
Uniting  heart  to  faithful  heart, 

To  be  forever  more  with  God. 
And  live  and  reign  forever  there. 


MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS,  501 

;g  Jfirst  Uimtn  gims; 

OR, 

THE  BLUNDERS  OF  A  CONFEDERATE  CAPTAIN. 


BY  COL.  B.  H.  JONES. 


About  the  middle  of  June,  1861,  I  raised  a  company  of 
infantry  in  Fayette  county,  Virginia,  and  was  elected  cap- 
tain, but  certainly  not  on  account  of  my  familiarity  with 
the  pages  of  Scott,  Gilham,  or  Hardee,  as  the  sequel  dem- 
onstrated, for  I 

"  had  never  set  a  squadron  in  the  field, 
Nor  the  division  of  a  battle  knew 
More  than  a  spinster." 

In  the  latter  part  of  the  same  month,  the  company  glo- 
rying in  the  euphoneous  and  significant  appellation  of  the 
"  Dixie  Rifles^'"  was  regularly  mustered  into  the  service  of 
the  Confederate  States  at  the  great  Falls  of  the  Kanawha, 
by  Brig.  Gen.  Henry  A.  Wise,  to  whose  "  Legion  "  it  was 
attached. 

I  had  just  returned  from  Lewisburg,  and  sported  a  gray 
jacket,  gotten  up  by  a  tailor  of  that  place,  who,  by  Way 
of  securing  the  job,  had  assured  me  that  he  was  perfectly 
au  fait  in  all  the  minutice  pertaining  to  the  decoration  of 
military  rank. 

I  was  quite  proud  of  my  up-buttoned,  close-fitting 
"jacket  of  gray,"  and  felt  all  the  importance  of  the  com- 
mander, until  I  was  startled  from  my  dream  of  consequen- 
tiality  by  being  addressed  by  an  old  soldier  as  "  corporal 
Jones  !  "  My  Knight  of  the  Shears,  equally  ignorant  with 
myself,  had  braided  me  a  corporal !  My  mortification  was 
excessive,  nor  did  I  recover  my  usual  composure  until  I 
spasmodically  tore  off  the  libellous  braid,  and  cast  it  dis- 
dainfully upon  the  ground. 


502  MY   FIRST   NINETY   DAYS. 

In  the  afternoon  of  that  day  it  became  necessary  to  draw 
rations,  and  as  our  supplies  were  at  Gauley  Bridge,  two 
miles  above  our  encampment,  and  no  transportation  at 
hand,  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  marching  the  men  up, 
so  they  might  carry  down  their  "  hard  tack  and  bacon.'* 
Ignorant  of  the  command  necessary  to  form  two  ranks, 
or  even  to  f^ce  them  in  the  direction  I  wished  to  move,  I 
took  my  orderly  sergeant  aside,  communicated  my  inten- 
tion to  move  at  once  upon  the  supply  depot,  and  directed 
him  to  form  the  company  in  single  line,  with  the  men  fac- 
ing toward  the  Bridge.  He  thought  the  suggestion  a 
happy  one,  and  proceeded  to  execute  the  order,  by  taking 
each  man  by  the  jacket  collar  and  forcibly  establishing 
him  in  the  proper  position,  always  accompanied  with  the 
important  injunction  to  "  stand  right  therey 

At  the  command,  "/ori^arrf  —  march!"  given  with  all 
the  energy  I  could  summon  to  the  aid  of  a  strong  pair  of 
lungs,  the  "  Dixie  Eifles  "  moved  oif  in  the  most  approved 
style.  The  interminable  line  winding  with  the  frequent 
curves  and  angles  of  the  road,  which,  coupled  with  the 
irregular  and  unrestrained  swinging  to  and  fro,  from  right 
to  left,  and  from  left  to  right,  of  one  hundred  and  eighty 
awkward  arms,  brought  forcibly  to  mind  the  spiral  and 
confused  locomotion  of  a  mighty  centipede !  Ever  and  anon 
reaching  a  commanding  point,  I  would  cast  backward  a 
glance  of  pride  and  satisfaction  ^t  the  vast  proportions  of 
my  command.  CaBsar,  Alexander,  and  Napoleon,  at 
some  period  in  their  eventful  lives,  possibly,  felt  as  well  as 
I  did  then,  but  I  will  never  concede  that  either  of  them 
ever  felt  any  better.  There  was  but  one  unpleasant  drop 
in  the  cup  of  my  happiness.  I  knew  that  the  company 
ought  to  march  in  tioo  ranks,  but  how  to  get  it  in  that 
shape  was  the  rub  ! 

I  had  Warned  the  company  on  taking  up  the  line  of 
march,  that  "  talkin'  in  ranks"  would  not  only  be-  highly 
unmilitar}',  but   could  not  be  tolerated  at  all ;  so  that  not 


MY    FIRST    NINETY    DAYS.  503 

a  sound  broke  the  funeral  silence  of  that  two  miles  march, 
save  once,  when  an  old  soldier,  who  had  seen  service  in 
Mexico,  ventured  to  speak  in  a  subdued  tone  to  the  man 
immediately  in  his  front.  I  detected  this,  and  jealous  of 
my  authority,  as  well  as  indignant  at  so  wanton  a  breach 
of  military  propriety,  and  stung  by  what  I  suspected  was 
a  merited  criticism  upon^the  Indian  file  movement,  and 
consequently  a  reflection  upon  ray  military  accomplish- 
ments, I  sternly  ordered  him  to  be  silent,  reminding  him 
that  I  was  Captain,  and  as  such,  not  to  be  trifled  with,  and 
that,  as  an  old  soldier,  he  should  know  better! 

At  length  we  arrived  at  the  Bridge  ;  the  rations  were 
issued,  and  the  order,  *'  shoulder  bacon  and  hard  tack,"  was 
about  to  be  given,  when,  as  luck  would  have  it,  up  comes 
a  four  horse  wagon,  driven  by  a  Nicholas  county  farmer. 
Fancying  myself,  by  virtue  of  my  Captaincy,  vested  with 
extraordinary  j^ower  —  in  other  word!!^  a  gentleman  of 
"high  claims  and  terrifying  exactions,"  —  I  proceeded,  at 
once,  to  press  wagon,  team,  and  teamster.  The  farmer 
protested,  alleging  that  he  had  been  long  from  home,  and 
could  not  reach  there  until  late  at  night ;  but  all  this  was 
unavailing.  He  had  encountered  what  was  afterwards 
known  as  a  "  military  necessity,"  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
had  to  succumb. 

Now,  another  difficulty  stared  me  in  the  face.  My  men 
had  fallen  in,  facing  Gauley  Bridge  ;  I  wished  to  move  them 
in  the  opposite  direction,  I  did  not  know  the  command  for 
a  countermarch.  "  File  right^^^  and  "  File  left^^  were  terms 
unknown  to  me,  or  if  known,  utterly  meaningless.  I  re- 
flected a  moment,  nervously  twirling  my  cane,  (sword,  I 
had  not,)  my  face  burning,  my  heart  beating  audibly,  the 
men  silent  and  expectant,  until  finally  growing  desperate, 
I  cried  out  in  the  extremity  of  my  agony,  "  Men^  turn  your 
faces  the  other  loay !"  Some  turned  to  the  right,  some  to 
the  left,  some  made  the  entire  circle  and  stood  as  at  first, 
while  others,  with  countenances  as  blank  as  lamp-posts. 


504  MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS. 

made  no  effort  whatever  to  obey  the  order,  while  my 
sharpened  hearing  caught  a  half-suppressed  sound  of  ma- 
licious laughter  in  the  direction  of  the  "old  soldier!  "  Fi- 
nally, with  the  aid  of  ray  "orderly,"  I  got  them  all  right, 
and  the  interminable  line  that 

"Like  a  wounded  snake,  dragged  its  slow  length  along," 

returned  to  camp.  Here  the  wagon  of  the  Nicholas  county 
farmer  speedily  unladened.  He  then  approached  me  in 
the  most  deferential,  not  to  say  awe-struck  manner,  and 
stammered  something  about  "pay  !  "  I  was  astounded  at 
his  ignorance  of  the  license  of  military  authority,  and, 
indignant  at  his  want  of  patriotism,  replied  with  much 
spirit,  "pay,  sir!  Pay,  indeed!  No  pay  at  all,  sir.  A 
mere  gratuity  that  you,  as  a  loyal  and  patriotic  citizen, 
should  esteem  a  privilege  to  render  your  country,  sir ;  the 
Southern  Confedeftcy,  sir!  "  With  alarm,  wonder,  morti- 
fication, and  disappointment,  all  depicted  in  his  counten- 
ance, he  shrank  back,  mounted  his  horse,  cracked  his  whip, 
and  was  soon  out  of  sight.  He  should  have  threshed  me 
soundly  on  the  spot,  although,  at  the  time,  I  honestly  be- 
lieved I  was  merely  exercising  an  official  prerogative  for 
the  benefit  of  my  country. 

A  happy  idea  now  suggested  itself.  I  would  solve  the 
vexed  problem  of  forming  in  two  ranks,  by  being  present 
when  Capt.  -Riggs'  company  was  on  parade.  His  men 
were  formed  in  line,  facing  by  the  left  flank.  "  In  two  ranks 
form  company  !  Company,  right  face — march !  "  said  Capt. 
Riggs.  "  Eureka!  "  I  almost  audibly  ejaculated  ;  then  hur- 
riedly dodging  around  the  corner  of  an  old  house  standing 
close  by,  I  hastily  took  my  memorandum  book  from  a  side 
pocket,  and  eagerly  recorded,  in  pencil,  the  talismanic 
words.  By  roll-call  the  next  morning  I  had  memorized 
them,  and  was  enabled  to  accomplish  the  wonderful  evolu- 
tion of  forming  a  company  in  two  ranks  to  my  own  entire 
satisfaction.      As  to  "four  ranks,"  I  had  never  heard  of 


MY   FIRST    NINETY    DAYS.  505 

such  a  thing,  and  should  have  been  strongly  inclined  to 
question  the  sanity  of  the  man  who  would  have  hinted  the 
possibility  of  such  a  formation.  Bear  in  mind,  I  had  never 
mustered  with  the  "melis/i,"  nor  seen  the  inside  of  any 
work  on  military  tactics.  Mine  was  not  an  isolated  case  ; 
it  was  the  experience  of  nine-tenths  of  the  Confederate 
officers.  We  were  "green,"  all  of  us;  yes,  succulently 
green. 

The  enlisted  men  drew  rations,  regularly ;  but  when  I 
applied  for  mine,  I  was  politely  informed,  much  to  my  mor- 
tification, that  "rations"  were  not  issued  to  commissioned 
officers.  "  How  am  I  to  live,  sir  ?  "  I  anxiously  enquired. 
"Indeed,  captain,  I  am  not  able  to  answer  your  question 
though  I  should'  be  most  happy  to  do  so  ;  for  it  is  one  in 
which  you  are  certainly  much  interested,"  replied  the 
commissary,  who  was  as  ignorant  of  his  duties  as  I  was 
of  mine,  though  not  in  half  so  much  danger  of  starvation 
I  had  not  been  long  at  Gauley  Bridge  before  it  came  my 
turn  to  act  as  "  officer  of  the  day."  I  felt  both  compli- 
mented  and  alarmed.  I  was  wholly  ignorant  of  the  duties 
of  my  position. 

Maj.  Bradfute  Warwick,  who  subsequently,  as  a  Colonel, 
fell  covered  with  glory  at  Cold  Harbor,  was  commandant 
of  the  post.  He  was  an  eastern  man,  and— unacquainted 
with  the  geography  of  that  part  of  Virginia,  and  the  dispo- 
sition of  the  inhabitants— fancied  we  were  in  constant  dan- 
ger of  a  surprise.  In  this  he  was  most  energetically  second- 
ed and  sustained  by  Capt.  Buckholtz,  an  officer  of  much 
gallantry,  in  command  of  the  artillery,  who  instructed  me 
to  visit  the  pickets  twice  during  the  day  and  three  times 
at  night.  And  the  distance  to  be  traveled  in  making  our 
round  was  about  six  miles.  The  roughness  of  the  route, 
and  the  labor  and  peril  to  be  encountered,  cannot  be  con- 
ceived by  any  one  who  has  not  experienced  them.  In  ad- 
dition to  the  regular  pickets,  men  were  stationed  about 
seventy  yards  apart,  connecting  each  post  with  the  main 
22 


506  MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS. 

camps.  These  sentinels  being  perfectly  "  green,"  fancied 
a  live  Yankee  under  every  bush,  and  were  ready  to  fire  at 
the  least  noise. 

I  was  to  start  on  my  first  round  at  precisely  nine  o'clock. 
I  gathered  my  blanket  and  repaired  to  the  guard-house. 
It  had  rained  almost  incessantly  for  "forty  days  and  nights," 
consequently  the  rude  floor  of  the  guard-house  bore  a 
strong  resemblance  to  that  of  a  pig-stye.  I  scraped  away 
the  looser  particles  of  mud,  however,  and  spreading  ray 
blanket,  lay  down  among  guards.  Union  prisoners,  &c.,  but 
I  consoled  myself,  however,  in  my  novel  and  uncomfortable 
position  by  the  reflection  that  I  was  "  serving  my  coun- 
try," and  that  our  forefathers  had  trod  the  same  rugged 
pathway  to  glory  and  independence.  Indeed,  my  patriot- 
ism so  far  triumphed  over  my  discomforts  as  to  enable  me 
to  discover  new  beauties  in  the  sentiment,  "  Dulce  et  de- 
corum est  pro  patria  mori !  " 

At  the  designated  hour  I  was  aroused  by  the  officer  of 
the  guard,  and  began  the  toil  of  the  night.  Taried  and 
startling  were  the  receptions  and  experiences  of  my  dreary 
round.  Sometimes  it  was  a  sharp  ^^  Halt  —  who  comes 
there  ?  "  Again,  it  was  a  hesitating  and  nervous  "  who's 
that  ?  "  and  not  unfrequently  it  was  the  startling  "  click  " 
of  a  lock,  that  made  "  each  particular  hair  stand  on  end," 
as  the  aroused  sentinel  made  ready  to  fire  !  I  was  under 
the  necessity  of  specially  instructing  each  sentry.  When 
I  got  back  to  the  guard-house,  I  found  it  was  just  midnight, 
the  hour  for  "  Grand  Bounds  ;  "  so,  accompanied  by  a  ser- 
geant and  three  privates,  I  started  again.  My  experience 
was  about  the  same  as  on  the  preceding  round,  with  one 
or  two  ludicrous  variations.  "  Who  comes  there  ? " 
"  Grand  Rounds  !  "  was  the  reply.  "  Come  on,  Grand 
Rounds ! "  Another,  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  "  Grand  Rounds !  " 
"  Oh,  pshaw  !  I  thought  it  was  them  fellers  comin'  to  re- 
lieve me !  " 

Grand  Rounds  completed,  I  found  myself  at  the  starting 


MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS,  507 

point  at  3  A.  M.,  wet,  muddy,  and  fatigued.  1  had  only 
made  two  rounds.  My  instructions  were  to  make  three, 
and  to  fail  was,  in  my  opinion,  death, —  ignominious  death  ! 
I  thought  of  my  family,  left  in  such  unsettled  and  trou- 
blous times  without  a  provider  or  protector,  and  remem- 
bering, also,  how  illy  fitted  I  was  for  death,  I  nerved  my- 
self for  the  third  and  last  round.  Away  I  trudged,  all 
alone,  and  finished  the  third  round  about  sunrise  ;  the  third 
round  finished  me  about  the  same  hour.  I  had  travelled 
eighteen  miles,  stubbing  my  feet  against  stones,  falling 
over  logs,  jamming  against  stumps,  plashing  into  mud 
holes,  and  wading  a  sluice  of  water  no  less  than  three 
times,  thirty  yards  wide  and  three  feet  deep  ! 

As  there  were  but  three  captains  at  the  post,  this  task 
devolved  on  me  every  third  day.  No  wonder,  then,  that 
my  countenance  grew  haggard  and  wan,  and  my  body 
weak  and  trembly,  so  that  my  own  wife  recognized  me 
with  difficulty.  An  iron  man  could  not  have  endured  such 
hardships  unafi'ected.  Yet  I  bore  all  cheerfully,  and  with 
martyr-like  resignation,  from  a  sense  of  duty,  and  because 
I  thought,  at  the  time,  the  authority  of  a  commanding  of- 
ficer was  unrestricted,  and  that,  as  a  subordinate,  I  was 
bound  to  obey  all  orders,  whether  reasonable  or  unreason- 
able. 

When  commissioned  officers  were  so  verdant,  what  could 
have  been  expectedof  the  private  soldier  ?  Passing  from 
my  quarters  to  the  creek,  one  morning  after  sunrise,  to  in- 
dulge in  my  usual  ablution,  I  was  suddenly  halted  by  a  sen- 
tinel, some  fifty  yards  to  my  right : 

"  Who  comes  there  ?  "  he  fiercely  demanded. 

"  Captain  Jones." 

"Grive  the  countersign.  Captain  Jones." 

"  The  countersign  is  not  required  at  this  hour." 

"Yes,  it  is.  Give  me  the  countersign,"  he  screamed, 
cocking  his  long  mountain  rifle,  and  bringing  her  to  bear 
directly  between  ray  eyes,  so  that  I  fancied  I  could  almost 


508  MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS. 

see  the  bullet  that  was  to  finish  my  mortal  career  !  It  would 
have  been  imprudent  to  have  shouted  the  countersign,  sur- 
rounded, as  I  was,  by  laurel,  where  an  enemy  might  have 
been  concealed,  so  I  essayed  to  draw  a  little  closer. 

"Halt!     Give  the  countersign,  I  tell  you,  or  I'll  fire." 

"  I  must  get  closer.     I  might  be  overheard." 

"Don't  care  a  darn !  That's  what  that  fellow  said,  that 
comed  around  last  night,  and  I  ain't  a  gwine  to  fool  with 
you  much  longer,  neither,  Captain.     So  jes  sing  her  out." 

Seeing  that  further  parley  or  expostulation  was  not  only 
useless,  but  positively  perilous,  I  bawled  out,  "  Jeff  Davis.'* 

"  That's  the  truck,  Cap'n.  Hurrah  for  Jeff  Davis.  You 
can  go  now; "  and  he  resumed  his  beat. 

So  apprehensive  of  a  surprise  were  the  superior  officers, 
(all  eastern  men,)  that  finally  I  got  badly  scared  myself. 

I  was  called  up  one  night,  by  Sergeant  Major  Pierce,  and 
informed  that  the  enemy  was  actually  crossing  New  river, 
just  above  the  mouth  of  Gauleyj  in  great  force  —  using 
three  flat-boats  for  that  purpose.  I  was  ordered  to  awaken 
my  men,  and  get  them  under  arms. 

The  "boys  "  sprang  eagerly  to  their  guns,  all  but  one 
]50or  fellow,  who  was,  unfortunately,  at  that  very  moment, 
attacked  with  violent  pains  in  the  region  of  the  stomach.  I 
was  assigned  a  position  in  an  oat  field.  Captain  Buckholtz 
labored  with  great  energy  to  get  his  artillery  in  position  ; 
wheels  creaking,  whips  cracking,  drivers  swearing.  There 
we  stood  in  the  field,  shivering  in  the  dark  morning  fog 
with  guns  cocked,  heads  inclined  eagerly  forward,  and  eyes 
strained,  vainly  endeavoring  to  peer  into  the  surrounding 
darkness  ;  but  no  enemy  came. 

In  the  latter  part  of  July  we  began  the  famous  retreat  — 
or,  as  Gen.  Wise  persisted  in  calling  it,  the  "  retrogade  " 
movement  —  from  the  Kanawha  Yalley.  Cox  had  been 
whipped  at  "  Scary  ;  "  but  another  army,  acting  in  concert 
with  his  movement,  was  seeking,  by  way  of  Sutton,  Sum- 
mersville,  and  the  Wilderness  road,  to  gain  our  rear,  and 


MY   FIRST    NINETY    DAYS.  509 

thus,  not  only  cut  us  off  from  our  base,  but  capture  our 
whole  force. 

Such  confusion  and  demoralization  as  then  ensued,  have 
been  seldom  witnessed.  One  entire  company,  perhaps 
two,  deliberately  filed  off  and  went  home.  Another  scat- 
tered like  frightened  sheep ;  but  the  captain  marched 
boldly  on  alone,  until  becoming  thoroughly  disgusted,  he 
broke  his  sword,  and  wore  the  bars  no  more  !  Huge  sides 
of  bacon  were  pitched  into  the  mud  and  trampled  under 
foot.  The  heads  of  whiskey  and  molasses  barrels  were 
knocked  in,  and  every  man  helped  himself.  Gauley 
bridge,  that  had  cost  $30,000,  was  burned,  although  the 
river  was  fordable  for  infantry  and  cavalry  one  hundred 
yards  above.  It  was  said,  though  I  never  credited  the 
report,  that  the  famous  "  Hawk's  Nest  "  was  examined 
with  an  eye  to  its  destruction,  but  was  declared  non-com- 
bustible, and  thus  saved  for  the  admiration  of  future  tour- 
ists. Every  one  went  it  on  his  "  own  hook."  For  the  first 
twelve  hours,  despite  the  efforts  of  the  General,  order  and 
system  were  lost.  Quartermasters  were  oblivious  to  their 
obligations  to  furnish  transportation. 

My  company  baggage  had  been  carried  across  the  ill- 
fated  bridge  by  the  men.  I  awaited  transportation  until 
near  night-fall,  and  the  bridge  was  already  in  flames, 
lighting  the  heavens  from  horizon  to  zenith  with  their  lurid 
glare.  The  army  had  gone,  its  retreating  footsteps  echoing 
amid  the  gorges  of  Gauley  mountain,  still  no  transporta- 
tion, nor  would  the  last  lingering  Quartermaster  answer 
satisfactorily  my  inquiries.  So  I  moved  off,  leaving  all 
behind. 

Dark  soon  came  on,  and  the  rain  descended  only  as  it 
did  rain  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1861,  in  the  moun- 
tains of  West  Virginia. 

We  had  gone  a  mile  when  we  met  a  wagon  with  a  four 
mule  team  and  a  negro  driver.  I  pressed  wagon,  mules 
and  driver,  sent  them  back  and  got  my  baggage.     It  was 


510  MY   FIRST    NINETY    DAYS. 

now  so  dark  we  could  with  diflSculty  keep  the  road.  I 
halted  the  company,  told  the  boys  to  take  care  of  them- 
selves, and  they  scattered  in  every  direction,  seeking  shel- 
ter under  rocks  and  trees  from  the  pitiless  storm.  I  crept 
down  the  hill  side,  carefully  feeling  my  way,  and  found  a 
dry  spot  under  a  huge  rock.  I  called  to  one  of  my  lieu- 
tenants, who  soon  joined  me,  and  I  told  him  to  go  in  first ; 
he  did  so,  and  so  completely  occupied  the  whole  space  that 
I  was  compelled  to  lie  all  night  in  the  rain.  While  sleep 
to  me  was  impossible,  I  could  hear  the  lieutenant  snoring 
boisterously  all  the  while.  I  had  never  before  regretted 
having  been  generous ;  I  did  that  night,  and  I  think  you 
will  concede  I  had  reason.  When  morning  came,  I  was 
wet  to  the  bone,  and  chilled  to  the  marrow.  We  started 
again  at  daylight.  Gen.  Wise  was  standing  at  the  top  of 
Gauley  mountain.  When  we  came  up,  he  told  me  to  halt 
my  company.  I  did  so,  and  he  furloughed  every  man  who 
wished  to  go  by  his  home.  The  result  was,  I  entered 
Lewisburg  with  ten  men  out  of  ninety.  I  was  so  emaciated 
and  care-worn  that  my  most  intimate  friends  recognized 
me  with  difficulty. 

Having  recruited  and  reorganized  his  command,  Gen. 
Wise  again  advanced  toward  Gauley,  while  Gen,  Floyd, 
taking  the  Sunday  road,  moved  toward  Summersville. 
Wise  encountered  Cox  at  Big  Creek,  a  few  miles  beyond 
the  Hawk's  Nest,  and,  after  a  brisk  skirmish,  kept  up  un- 
til evening,  owing  to  the  failure  of  a  part  of  his  pro- 
gramme, fell  back  four  miles  to  Woodville,  and  went  into 
camp.  Floyd,  having  crossed  Gauley  at  Carnifix's  Ferry, 
and  entrenched  himself  on  the  cliffs,  awaited  Eosecranz, 
who,  advancing  from  Cheat  Mountain,  attacked  hira  with 
great  impetuosity.  The  Confederates,  though  outnumber- 
ed at  least  six  to  one,  resisted  successfully  every  attempt 
to  carry  their  position,  until  night-fall,  when  they  with- 
drew with  so  much  secrecy,  that  the  Federal  Commander 
received  the  information  of  their  retreat  about  sunrise  the 


MY   FIRST    NINETY   DAYS.  511 

next  morning,  when  his  troops  stormed  and  carried  the 
undefended  entrenchments,  Floyd  did  not  lose  a  single 
man  in  this  battle  —  two  were  slightly  wounded,  one  of 
them  the  General  himself.  Eosecranz  must  have 
suflPered  severely,  as  his  men  repeatedly  assailed  the 
works  with  great  and  persevering  gallantry.  Having 
recrossed  Gauley,  Floyd  fell  back  to  Dogwood  Gap, 
at  the  junction  of  the  Sunday  road  with  the  James 
Eiver  and  Kanawha  turnpike.  Here  he  was  rejoined  by 
Wise ;  and  Cox  and  Eosecranz,  continuing  to  advance 
with  a  force  of  at  least  15,000  men,  while  that  of  the 
Confederates  did  not  exceed  3,500,  the  latter  fell  back 
slowly  to  the  top  of  Big  Sewell  Mountain.  Halting  here 
a  day  or  so,  Floyd  began  to  fortify,  but  suddenly  changing 
his  mind,  he  retired  toward  Meadow  Eiver,  in  Greenbrier 
county,  and  ordered  AYise  to  follow,  which  he  positively 
and  indignantly  refused  to  do,  avowing  his  determination 
to  oppose  his  1,500  men  against  Eosecranz's  15,000,  and 
thus  make  a  Thermopylae  of  Sewell  Mountain.  He  ac- 
cordingly named  his  position  "  Camp  Defiance,"  and  coolly 
awaited  the  advance  of  the  enemy. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  recount  how,  in  a  few  days,  Eose- 
cranz came  up  and  went  into  camp  in  an  equally  favorable 
position  about  a  mile  west  of  "  Camp  Defiance  ;  "  how 
Gen.  Lee  came  down  from  the  Cheat  Mountain  region 
bringing  reinforcements ;  how  he  examined  Wise's  posi- 
tion, approved  his  course,  and  ordered  Floyd  to  return  ; 
how  for  three  or  four  weeks  the  rival  host  surveyed  each 
other  from  their  respective  mountain  strongholds  without 
coming  to  an  engagement ;  how,  confident  of  the  issue, 
we,  from  day  to  day,  prayed  for  the  advance  of  the  Fed- 
erals ;  and  how,  finally,  one  bright  Sunday  morning,  when 
Gen.  Jjee,  as  we  were  assured,  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
execute  on  the  following  Tuesday  a  grand  strategic  move- 
ment that  promised  to  result  in  the  complete  discomfiture 
of  the  foe,  we  got  up  and  found  he  had  struck  his  tents 


512 


MY   FIRST    NINETY    DAYS. 


and  precij^itately  retreated.  I  merely  wish,  in  this  con- 
nection, to  relate  one  other  of  my  adventures  as  a  Confed- 
erate Captain. 

I  was  officer  of  the  day.  We  were  expecting  Eosecranz 
to  attack  us.  I  wished  to  see  the  old  officer  of  the  guard. 
I  did  not  know  who  had  acted  in  that  capacity  the  day 
before,  and  had  not  been  enabled  to  find  out  by  enquiry. 
I  went  to  the  guard  tent  and  mentioned  that  I  wished  to 
see  the  old  officer  of  the  guard.  A  drummer  suggested 
that  if  he  were  to  sound  his  drum,  perhaps  the  individual 
wanted  would  come  to  the  guard  tent.  I  cannot  under- 
stand why  I  thought  the  beating  of  the  drum  would  pro- 
duce such  a  result,  or  why  the  drummer  thought  so.  I 
know,  however,  1  caught  at  the  suggestion,  and  when  the 
drummer  asked  me  if  he  should  sound  the  long  roll,  I  an- 
swered affirmatively,  adding  that  I  supposed  that  would 
do  as  well  as  anything  else.  The  fact  was  I  had  not  heard 
of  the  long  roll  before,  and  did  not  know  that  special  sig- 
nificance attached  to  it.  He  commenced  beating  the 
long  roll.  There  happened  to  be  one  or  two  officers  in 
camp  who  knew  that  the  long  roll  was  a  call  to  arms  to 
repel  an  attack,  or  something  of  that  nature.  In  other 
words,  it  was  an  alarm.  They  seized  their  swords,  sprang 
out  and  called  on  their  men  to  fall  in,  instantly;  other 
officers  caught  the  infection  and  followed  the  example.  In 
a  moment  the  entire  camp  was  in  an  uproar,  rivalling  that 
of  Babel  itself.  From  every  tent  officers  buckling  on  their 
swords,  and  privates  with  cartridge  box  in  one  hand  and 
musket  in  the  other,  streamed  forth  like  angry  bees  from 
so  many  hives,  while  above  all  other  sounds,  were  heard 
the  excited  commands  of  officers,  "  fall  in,  men  —  fall  in  !  " 
"  Back  on  the  left !  "  "Out  a  little  in  the  center."  "There, 
steady,  front !  "     "  Eight  dress !  "  &c.,  &c. 

Had  I  been  capable,  at  that  moment,  of  remembering 
anything  at  all  that  I  had  ever  read,  it  would  certainly  have 
been  Byron's  Waterloo : 


MY    riRST    NINETY    DAYS.  513 

"Ah  !  then  and  there  was  hurrying  to  and  fro, 

And  there  was  mounting  in  hot  haste  ;  the  steed, 

The  mustering  squadron,  and  the  clattering  car, 

Went  pouring  forward  with  impetuous  speed, 

And  swiftly  forming  in  the  ranks  of  war; 

And  the  deep  thunder  peal  on  peal  afar ; 

And  near  the  beat  of  the  alarming  drum, 

Roused  up  the  soldier  e'er  the  morning  star; 

While  thronged  the  citizens,  with  terror  dumb, 

Or  whispering,  with  white  lips  :     '  The  foe  !  they  come,  they  come  I '  " 

But  cries  of  "  the  long  roll !  "  "  the  long  roll !  "  arising 
on  all  sides,  assured  me  that  I  was  the  author  of  the  mis- 
chief, and  in  the  extremity  of  ray  mortification,  I  was 
senseless  and  dumb ;  and  then  Col.  Spaulding  came  rush- 
ing from  his  quarters,  calling  for  his  horse,  and  demanding, 
in  an  excited  manner,  ''what  all  that  meant?"  If  ever 
man  desired 

*' A  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness  — 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade," 

deep,  dark,  impenetrable  shade,  at  that  —  one  of  the  Ben- 
gal jungle  variety  —  I  was  certainly  that  man. 

In  reply  to  his  question,  I  succeeded,  by  a  desperate  effort, 
in  stammering  out  that  there  was  nothing  serious  the  mat- 
ter ;  that  I  had  told  the  drummer  to  beat  for  the  old  ofiicer 
of  the  guard,  and  he  had,  with  my  sanction,  beat  the  "  long 
roll" — I  being  ignorant  of  the  peculiar  import  and  proba- 
ble effect  thereof. 

For  a  moment,  anger  and  a  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous 
appeared  to  struggle  for  the  mastery ;  but  the  latter  tri- 
umphed, and,  directing  his  orderly  to  tell  the  captains  to 
dismiss  their  men,  with  an  emphatic  smile  on  his  counten- 
ance, he  invited  me  to  his  tent,  and  there  good-humoredly 
explained  to  me  the  mysteries  of  the  "  long  roll !  "  Brave, 
accomplished,  generous  Spaulding!  Two  weeks  later  his 
body,  a  bloody  corpse,  was  borne  in  a  blanket  to  camp,  by 
four  of  his  men.  He  had  approached  too  close  to  the 
pickets  of  the  enemy,  and  received  two  balls  through  his 
breast. 

A  few  days  after  the  retreat  of  the  Federals  from  Sew- 
22* 


514  MY   FIRST   NINETY   DAYS. 

ell,  General  Lee  sent  out  two  famous  scouts  —  one  of  them 
afterwards  Capt.  William  Heffaer,  who  was  killed  at  the 
battle  of  Lewisburg,  in  May,  1862.  They  were  ordered 
to  leave  their  guns  in  camp,  as  the  object  was  information 
as  to  the  location  of  the  enemy.  They  found  the  enemy 
encamped  in  a  field  belonging  to  Colonel  George  Alderson. 
Under  cover  of  the  brush,  the  scouts  crept  up  to  the  fence 
enclosing  the  field,  and  while  lying  there,  Generals  Eose- 
cranz  and  Cox  rode  up  within  thirty  yards,  halted,  and 
sat  on  their  horses  engaged  in  conversation  for  some  time. 
Capt.  Heffaer  told  me  he  could  have  counted  the  buttons 
on  their  coats.  Had  the  scouts  carried  their  guns,  the  career 
of  the  two  Federal  commanders  would  have  ended  that 
bright  October  morning  —  Wm.  Heffner  and  comrade  were 
dead  shots,  with  their  long  mountain  rifles,  at  two  hundred 
paces. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  I  afterwards  saw  much  service,  and 
endured  much  suffering,  for  I  was  in  the  field  from  the  be- 
ginning to  the  close  of  the  war,  excepting  from  the  5th  of 
June,  1864,  to  19th  June,  1865,  during  which  time  I  was 
a  prisoner  of  war  at  Johnson's  Island.  I  was  with  Lee, 
in  the  swamps  of  South  Carolina  :  on  the  sand  hills  of 
Wilmington  ;  in  front  of  McDowell,  at  Fredericksburg  ;  in 
the  "  Seven  Days'  Battles,"  on  the  Chickahominy.  With 
Jackson,  at  Cedar  Mountain  ;  with  Loring,  in  the  Kanawha 
Yalley  ;  with  Ransom,  in  the  Southwest;  with  ^'- Tiger 
John  "  McCausland,  at  Piney,  Princeton,  and  the  Xarrows  ; 
with  Jenkins,  at  Cloyd's  Farm,  and  William  E.  Jones,  at 
fatal  Piedmont ;  but  during  those  first  "  Ninety  Days  " 
with  Wise,  in  the  Kanawha  Valley  and  on  Sewell  Moun- 
tain, I  underwent  more  real  suffering  and  hardship,  than 
in  all  my  after  military  life. 

And  the  "  Dixie  Rifles!  "  where  are  they  now?  Alas! 
some  are  sleeping  beneath  the  Magnolias  of  the  South ; 
some  on  the  hills  of  Fredericksburg;  some  at  Mechanics- 
ville,  Cold  Harbor,  and  Frazier's  Farm;  some  at  Piney, 


MY   FIRST    NINETY    DAYS.  515 

Princeton  and  the  Narrows  ;  some  at  Cloyd's  Farm  ;  some 
at  Piedmont,  Winchester,  Kernstown,  Cedar  Creek,  Fisher's 
Hill,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Opeqiion  ;  some  at  the 
White  Sulphur,  Eichmond,  and  Lynchburg;  some  at 
Camps  Morton  and  Chase  ;  some  at  Point  Lookout  and 
Elmira;  some  have  gone  home  with  broken  constitutions; 
some  maimed  and  almost  helpless  for  life.  With  their 
gallant  comrades  of  the  glorious  "old  60th,"  they  every- 
where bore  their  full  share  of  suffering,  and  danger,  and 
death;  and  when,  at  the  close  of  the  war,  they,  with 
streaming  eyes  and  aching  hearts,  turned  away  from  the 
"  Conquered  Banner,"  which, 

"  though  gory, 
Yet  is  wreathed  around  with  glory, 
And  will  live  in  song  and  story, 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust ; 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages, 
Shall  ^0  sounding  down  through  ages, 

Furl  its  fold  though  now  we  must." 

In  that  sad  hour,  not  more  than  a  dozen  of  the  original 
Dixie  Eifles  answered  at  roll-call. 

'«  On  Fame's  eternal  camping  ground, 

Their  silent  tents  are  spread  : 
While  Glory  guards  with  solemn  round 

The  bivouac  of  the  dead  1  " 


516  TO    EXCHANGE   COMMISSIONER   OULD. 


^0  (^ul^mx^t  Cnmmtssioiur  6ultr» 

MAJ.   GEO.  MCKNIGHT. 

Dear   Uncle  Boh : 

I  fear  your  head 
Has  gone  a  thinking  I  am  dead  ; 
That  ice  and  snow,  and  doctor's  arts, 
Had  stopped  the  breath  of  "  Asa  Hartz." 
I  write  this  in  poetic  "  lingo," 
To  tell  you  I'm  alive,  by  jingo  ! 
And  ask  if  you  can  bring  about 
Some  certain  means  to  get  me  out  ? 

Haven't  you  got  some  Yankee  *'  mage," 
!Now  resting  in  a  Southern  cage, 
Who  longs  to  see  his  much  loved  "^arm" ; 
Or  visit  once  again  his  farm; 
Or  gaze  upon  his  garden  "5«ss," 
Or  see,  once  more,  his  youthful  lass  ? 
Haven't  you  one  of  these,  I  say. 
Whom  you  would  like  to  swap  away 
For  me,  a  man  of  vim  —  of  parts, 
Swap  him  in  short  for  "  Asa  Hartz"  ? 

I've  been  here  now  almost  a  year, 

And  feel  that  freedom  would  be  dear. 

I've  tried  by  every  means  I  knew, 

To  bid  this  Isle  a  fond  adieu  ; — 

Dug  holes,  scaled  walls,  passed  thro'  the  gate, 

With  Yankee  cap  upon  my  pate ; 

And  when  I  went  out  on  the  ice. 

And  thought  I'd  got  away  so  nice, 

I  found  a  "  blue  coat  ■'  in  my  route, 


TO    EXCHANGE   COMMISSIONER   OULD.  517 

Who  quickly  made  me  face  about, 
Marched  me,  with  diabolic  grin, 
Back  to  the  gate  and  turned  me  in ! 

I've  swallowed  every  rumor  strange, 
That  had  a  word  about  "  exchange  "  ; 
Grew  fat  with  joy,  grew  lean  with  sorrow. 
Was  up  to-day,  and  down  to-morrow  j 
Implored,  with  earnestness  of  soul, 
To  be  released  upon  "  parole  " ; 
Wrote  Ben  F.  B.  a  spicy  letter. 
And  told  him  he  could  not  do  better 
Than  let  me  out  for  "  Thirty  Days  "  ; 
I  read  his  answer  in  amaze! 

He  said  that  things  were  mixed  up  now 
In  such  a  way,  he  knew  not  how 
The  favor  that  I  talked  about 
Could  well  be  granted  ;  had  no  doubt 
That  things  would  soon  be  all  arranged, 
By  which  we  all  Avould  be  exchanged  ! 

That  ended  it.     I  wrote  to  Prentice, 
Who,  several  times,  had  kindly  lent  his 
Purse  and  name  to  those  whom  chance. 
And  "  pomp  and  glorious  circumstance," 
Had  sent  to  rusticate  awhile 
Within  the  pen,  on  Johnson's  Isle. 

Well,  "  George  D."  wrote  to  Gen.  Terry, 
Commandant  here  —  a  good  man,  very. 
And  told  him,  if  he'd  let  me  out. 
For  thirty  days,  or  thereabout. 
He'd  take  me  down  into  Kentucky, 
See  that  I  didn't  "  cut  my  lucky  "  ; 
Would  go  my  bail  in  any  sum. 
That  when  B.  called  me,  I  should  come  I 


518  TO   EXCHANGE   COMMISSIONER    OULD. 

Gen.  Terry  wrote  him  back, 
That  he  must  take  the  "beaten  track"! 
"I  really  thought,"  he  said,  "you  knew  it. 
That  Stanton — and  he  alone — could  do  it!  " 

Thus  ended  that  plan.     I've  no  doubt 
That  I've  almost  "gone  up  the  spout"! 
Unless  you  can  devise  the  means, 
To  give  me  change  of  air  and  scenes, 
By  special  swap ! 

^ow,  Uncle  Bob: 
Be  patient  with  me!     Do  not  rob 
Me  of  the  hope  I  fondly  cherish  ! 
Do  not  leave  me  here  to  perish! 

I've  ''shuffled;'  ''cut  the  cards;'  and  "dealt;" 
I've  lost  my  "bower  " — the  loss  is  felt 
Far  more  than  loss  of  "filthy  lucre." 
l^ow  "play  my  hand"  —  save  me  the  "euchre." 
And  when  your  latest  breath  departs, 
You'll  go  bewailed  by 

"  Asa  Hartz." 


P.  S. 


When  you,  in  answering  this,  shall  write, 
Address  me — "  Maj.  George  McKnight, 
Prisoner  of  War."     Be  cautious  —  very, 
And  add  on  —  "  Care  of  General  Terry.  " 


A   LOVE    LETTER.  519 


%  f  ofjc  f  eittr. 


BY  MAJ.  S.  y.  LEVY. 


I  PROMISED  once  to  write  thee,  and  I  write : 

What  can  I  tell  thee,  clear,  thou  dost  not  know? 

O'er  the  pale  camp  is  brooding  tearful  Night, 
Save  where  the  silv'ry  moonlight's  placid  glow 

Strikes  through  the  solemn  arches  of  the  trees ; 

And  ev'rj  voice  in  Nature  hush'd  and  dead. 
Save  the  light  murmurs  of  the  whisp'ring  breeze 

And  the  lone  sentry's  nev^er  ceasing  tread. 

But  in  my  heart  there  flutters  a  soft  voice, 
Responsive  to  some  Seraph's  harp  above, 

Bidding  my  restless  spirit  "  O,  rejoice ! 

Rejoice,  O  soul,  be  glad  in  thy  great  love." 

Be  glad  that  thou  hast  clasp'd  her  yielding  form ; 

Be  glad  that  thou  hast  heard  her  quiv'ring  sighs : 
Hast  trembled  in  the  whirl  of  passion's  storm, 

And  fainted  in  the  languor  of  her  eyes. 

I  know  that  thou  canst  never  be  mine  own. 
And  that  the  future's  but  one  dreary  strife ; 

For  who  can  conquer,  fighting  all  alone. 
The  cold  conventionalities  of  life  ? 

Yet  still  I  love  thee:  love  thee,  while  I  know 
I  press  a  blissful  torment  to  my  heart : 

Unheeding  my  sad  s^^irit's  warning  low, 

"  Desist,  fond  fool,  and  know  that  you  must  part." 

Ah  me,  that  it  should  ever  come  to  this  ; 

That  e'er  my  soul  should  droop  'neath  this  eclipse. 


520  A   LOVE   LETTER. 

E'en  while  I  feel  thy  last  long,  lingering  kiss, 
Dwelling  in  perfume  on  my  raptured  lips, 

The  terror  of  what  must  be,  strikes  its  dart 
Deep  in  my  joy,  and  shadows  forth  my  doom ; 

Instils  its  poison  thro'  my  shudd'ring  heart. 
And  shrouds  the  temple  of  my  soul  in  gloom. 

I  would  I  ne'er  had  met  thee ;  better,  dear. 
Have  worshipped  the  ideal  of  my  mind, — 

A  fairy  vision —  than  have  seen,  appear. 
Thy  lovely  presence,  and  in  it  to  find 

All  that  my  fancy  long  ago  had  loved, 
All  that  my  spirit  ever  pined  to  see, 

All  that  my  wayward  pulses  e'er  had  moved. 
Incarnate  and  refined,  sweet  love  in  thee*; 

Yet  know,  for  me  beams  not  that  radiant  face, — 
That  all  my  future's  but  a  bitter  strife. 

And  weary  solitude  usurps  the  place 
Of  thee,  my  better,  nobler  part  of  life. 

Ah,  if  I  could  but  make  thy  fate  mine  own  ; 

Could  always  see  the  changes  of  thine  eye  j 
Share  joy  for  joy,  and  echo  moan  for  moan  ; 

Grive  smile  for  smile,  and  murmur  sigh  for  sigh ; 

The  golden  circlet  of  my  life  would  move, 
Hushed  with  a  rapture  deeper  than  the  sea ; 

My  soul  would  soar  immortal  with  its  love. 
And  find  its  future  Heaven  alone  with  thee. 

Yet,  still,  a  voice  of  hope  sings  from  on  high 
In  murm'ring  accents,  low  and  strangely  sweet 

"Be  comforted,  sad  soul,  ye  too  shall  die. 
And  seek  eternal  union  at  God's  feet. 

"Wherefore,  be  not  cast  down,  but  live  to  shield 


A   LOVE   LETTER. 


521 


The  idol  of  thy  soul  from  every  care ; 
To  wage  life's  fight  in  her  behalf,  and  yield, 

For  her  dear  sake,  thy  stubborn  heart  in  prayer. 

"And  as  the  waters  rent  the  sullen  rock. 
Struck  by  the  holy  Prophet's  mighty  rod, 

So  let  this  hope  thy  sad  despair  unlock, 

And  still  love  on,  and  leave  the  end  to  God." 

But  I  write  mournfully,  and  thou  wilt  see 
No  music  in  this  plaintive  wail  of  mine  ; 

Then,  dear,  who  art  a  spirit  born  of  glee. 
And  joying  in  an  atmosphere  divine, 

What  can  I  write  thee  of?     The  morn  shines iDright, 
The  whip-poor-will  doth  her  sad  song  repeat; 

Perfumes  are  glowing  on  the  heath  of  night, 
And  the  lone  sentry  walks  his  weary  beat. 

Kow  o'er  the  quiet  camp  doth  slumber  reign. 
And  sorrow  on  sleep's  bosom  calms  her  sighs ; 

I  seek  a  pillow  there,  alas,  in  vain ! 

The  gentle  goddess  scorns  my  watchful  eyes. 

For  thoughts  of  thee  still  flutter  o'er  my  mind. 
And  Mem'ry  sparkles  with  thy  winning  grace-; 

I  hear  thy  whisper  on  the  murm'ring  wind, 
And  in  all  heav'n  I  see  thy  laughing  face. 

Bow  down  !  bow  down,  my  soul,  before  thy  queen  ! 

Sing  forth  her  glories  to  the  wond'ring  Night ! 
To  the  gay  fairies  dancing  o'er  the  green, 

And  weaving  love  spells  from  the  cold  moon's  light. 

Ah,  dearest,  how  I  love  thee  !     Not  the  love 
That  roseate  dawned  when  Eros  took  his  birth, 

But  as  the  white-winged  seraphs  glowed  above, 
Wooing  the  daughters  of  the  youthful  Earth. 


522  A    LOVE    LETTER. 

I  would  that  you  and  I,  far,  far  away, 

Loitered,  all  heedless,  by  some  murm'ring  shore, 

Where  all  my  love  might  open  to  the  day, 
And  I  should  know  thoud'st  never  leave  me  more. 

How  I  would  cherish  thee  !     Ah  !  hurt  me,  sweet, 

No  fairy  pillowed  on  a  lily's  breast 
Could  e'er  lie  softer  in  her  fair  retreat, 

Than  thou  would'st  in  these  arms — thy  surest  nest. 

I'd  dwell  in  rapture  on  thy  lightest  word, 
And  revel  in  the  perfume  of  thy  sighs ; 

Own  every  wish  of  thine,  my  heart's  sole  lord, 
And  read  Love's  triumph  in  thine  orbid  eyes. 

And  when  the  rosy-tinted  Moon  alights, 
And  when  the  Sun  casts  down  his  golden  hair, 

E'en  till  he  sinks  behind  the  western  heights, 
I'd  see  Love  shrined  in  Nature  everywhere. 

'Love,  sighing  in  the  murmur  of  the  seas  — 

Love,  sleeping  in  the  shady  mountain  nooks  — 
Love,  dancing  to  the  music  of  the  trees, 
And  laughing  in  the  ripple  of  the  brooks. 

Love,  in  the  fragrance  of  each  flow' ret  fair  — 
Love,  in  the  azure  of  the  smiling  skies  — 

Love  in  the  mazes  of  my  lady's  hair, 

And  in  the  splendor  of  my  darling's  eyes. 

O,  Love,  Love,  Love  !     O,  all  pervading  Love  ; 

Love,  ruling  everywhere  without  control; 
Love  upon  earth,  and  Love  in  Heaven  above, 

And  Love,  entranced,  cradled  in  my  soul. 

Ah,  vain  the  thought !  hear  the  stern  fate  —  we  part : 

It  sets  its  awful  seal  upon  my  fears  ; 
Glides,  icy  cold,  athwart  my  shuddering  heart, 

And  shrouds  my  spirit  in  a  veil  of  tears. 


THE    COUNTERSIGN.  523 

Hark  !  from  the  silence  the  shrill  Eeveillee, 
Above  the  startled  camp  peals  out  its  swell, 

And  welcomes  to  the  earth  the  new-born  day. 
My  soul's  best  joy  and  light,  farewell,  farewell  1 


t  €annhxBXQn. 


BY  COL.    W.    W.    FONTAINE. 


Alas!  the  weary  hours  pass  slow, 

The  night  is  very  dark  and  still, 
And  in  the  marshes  far  below 

I  hear  the  bearded  whip-poor-will. 
I  scarce  can  see  a  yard  ahead, 

My  ears  are  strained  to  catch  each  sound ; 
I  hear  the  leaves  about  me  shed, 

And  the  springs  bubbling  through  the  ground. 

Along  the  beaten  path  I  pace. 

Where  white  rags  mark  my  sentry's  track ; 
In  formless  shrubs  I  seem  to  trace 

The  foeman's  form  with  bending  back. 
I  think  I  see  him  crouching  low; 

I  stop  and  list — I  stoop  and  peer — 
Until  the  neighboring  hillocks  grow 

To  groups  of  soldiers  far  and  near. 

With  ready  piece  I  wait  and  watch, 
Until  mine  eyes,  familiar  grown, 
Detect  each  harmless  earthen  notch, 


524  THE   COUNTERSIGN. 

And  turn  guerrillas  into  stone. 
And  then  amid  the  lonely  gloom, 

Beneath  the  weird  old  tulip  trees, 
My  silent  marches  I  resume, 

And  think  on  other  times  than  these. 

Sweet  visions  through  the  silent  night! 

The  deep  bay  windows  fringed  with  vine  ; 
The  room  within,  in  softened  light. 

The  tender,  milk-white  hand  in  mine. 
The  timid  pressure,  and  the  pause 

That  ofttimes  overcame  our  speech — 
That  time  when  by  mysterious  laws, 

We  each  felt  all  in  all  to  each. 

And  then,  that  bitter,  bitter  day, 

When  came  the  final  hour  to  part, 
When  clad  in  soldier's  honest  gray, 

I  pressed  her  weeping  to  my  heart. 
Too  proud  of  me  to  bid  me  stay, 

Too  fond  of  me  to  let  me  go, 
I  had  to  tear  myself  away. 

And  left  her  stolid  in  her  woe. 

So  rose  the  dream — so  passed  the  night — 

When  distant  in  the  darksome  glen^ 
Approaching  up  the  sombre  height, 

I  hear  the  solid  march  of  men ; 
Till  over  stubble,  over  sward, 

And  fields  where  lay  the  golden  sheaf, 
I  saw  the  lantern  of  the  guard 

Advancing  with  the  night  relief. 

*'  Halt !  who  goes  there  ?  "  my  challenge  cry, 
It  rings  along  the  watchful  line. 

"Belief!  "  I  hear  a  voice  reply. 

"  Advance,  and  give  the  countersign  I  " 


TO   THE   LADIES    OF    VIRGINIA.  525 

With  bayonet  at  the  charije,  I  wait, 

The  corporal  gives  the  mystic  spell ; 
With  arms  at  port  I  charge  my  mate, 

And  onward  pass,  and  all  is  well. 

But  in  the  tent  that  night  awake, 

I  think,  if  in  the  fray  I  fall, 
Can  I  the  mystic  answer  make 

Whene'er  the  angelic  sentries  call  ? 
And  pray  that  heaven  may  so  ordain, 

That  when  I  near  the  camp  divine, 
Whether  in  travail  or  in  pain, 

I  too  may  have  the  countersign. 


C0  tlj^  Ifairtcs  0f  ©irgmm. 


BY   COL.    W.    W.    FONTAINE. 


Mothers,  wives,  and  maidens  fair  I 
Mournful,  with  disheveled  hair, 
You  have  come  this  day  to  share 

In  an  act  of  glory ; 
Sprinkling  flowers  on  the  grave, 
Of  each  patriot  soldier  brave. 
Who,  his  mother  State  to  save, 

Made  an  oifering  gory. 

Tho'  the  offering  was  in  vain. 
On  their  shield  there  is  no  stain. 
On  their  arm  there  is  no  chain  ; 


526  TO   THE    LADIES    OF    VIRGINIA. 

Deck  their  graves  with  flowers. 
And  whenever  maiden  May 
Shall  their  native  South  array, 
Ever  this  appointed  day, 

Bring  your  floral  showers. 

Yes,  altho'  their  cause  is  dead, 
Tho'  our  mother  bows  her  head 
'Neath  the  foeman's  haughty  tread, 

Pressing  now  upon  her ; 
Search  ye  for  each  warrior  well, 
And  let  proud  inscription  tell 
How  the  one  who  slumbers,  fell, 

On  the  field  of  honor. 

Ah  !  no  more  their  watch-fires  beam, 
Nor  their  banners  proudly  stream  ; 
Nor  their  sabres  brightly  gleam. 

In  the  front  of  battle. 
Ah  !  we  hear  their  shouts  no  more 
Kinging  over  fields  of  gore. 
Mingling  with  the  cannon's  roar, 

And  the  musket's  rattle. 

Glorious  army  of  the  dead. 
Which  from  foemen  never  fled. 
Which  the  "  Stonewall  "  hero  led 
To  a  death  of  duty. 


For  you 
For  you 
For  you 


while  the  mountains  rise, 
while  the  South  wind  sighs, 
tears  shall  dim  the  ej^es, 


Of  our  peerless  beauty. 


SILENCE.  527 


xlzxtct . 


BY   LIEUT.    J.    E.    DOOLEY. 


There's  silence  in  the  prison, 
There's  silence  on  the  shore, 

Where  no  returning  billows 
Eesounding  hoarsely  roar^' 

There's  silence  on  the  surface 

Of  Erie's  placid  brow  ; 
There's  silence  neath  the  waters, 

Which  snioothly,  softly  flow. 

There's  quiet  in  the  moonlight, 
Which  dances  on  the  wave ; 

And  silence  of  the  midnight 
Enshrouds  the  prisoner's  grave  ! 

There's  stillness  round  the  couches 
Of  captives'  sleeping  sound  ; 

Their  forms  are  wrapt  in  darkness. 
And  silence  floats  around. 

All  Nature  silent  slumbers 
In  Luna's  doubtful  light; 

As  conscious  of  our  resting 
On  Erie's  shores  to-nierht. 


528  OUR    SOUTUERN    DEAD. 


&m  Southern  Qeair, 


BY    FATHER    A.    J.    RYAN. 


Gather  the  sacred  dust 

Of  the  warriors  tried  and  true, 
"Who  bore  the  flag  of  our  nation's  trust, 
And  fell  in  the  cause,  though  lost,  still  just, 
And  died  for  me  and  you. 

Gather  them  each  and  all ! 

From  the  private  to  the  chief  I 
Come  they  from  hovel  or  princely  hall, 
They  fell  for  us,  and  for  them  should  fall 

The  tears  of  a  nation's  grief. 

Gather  the  corpses  strewn 

O'er  many  a  battle  plain  ; 
From  many  a  grave  that  lies  so  lone, 
Without  a  name  and  without  a  stone, 

Gather  the  Southern  slain. 

We  care  not  whence  they  came, 

Dear  is  their  lifeless  clay ! 
Whether  unknown  or  known  to  fame, 
Their  cause  and  country  still  the  same — 

They  died — and  wore  the  gray. 

Wherever  the  brave  have  died. 

They  should  not  rest  apart ; 
Living  they  struggled  side  by  side. 
Why  should  the  hand  of  death  divide 

A  single  heart  from  heart  ? 

Gather  their  scattered  clay, 
Wherever  it  may  rest  j 


VIRGINIA   CAPT^.  529 

Just  as  they  marched  to  the  bloody  fray, 
Just  as  they  fell  on  the  battle-day, 
Bury  them  breast  to  breast. 

The  foeman  need  not  dread 

This  gathering  of  the  brave  ! 
Without  sword  or  flag,  and  with  soundless  tread. 
We  muster  once  more  our  deathless  dead — 

Out  of  each  lonely  grave. 

The  foeman  need  not  frown  ; 

They  are  all  powerless  now. 
We  gather  them  here,  and  we  lay  them  down, 
And  tears  and  prayers  are  the  only  crown 

We  bring  to  wreathe  each  brow. 

And  the  dead  thus  meet  the  dead, 

While  the  living  o'er  them  weep  ; 
And  the  men  whom  Lee  and  Stonewall  led, 
And  the  hearts  that  once  together  bled, 

Together  still  shall  sleep. 


BY   MRS.    M.   J.   PRESTON,   OP   VA. 


XJnconquered  captive  close  thine  eye, 
And  draw  the  ashen  sackcloth  o'er. 
And  in  thy  speechless  woe  deplore, 

The  fate  that  would  not  let  thee  die ! 

The  arm  that  wore  the  shield,  strip  bare ; 
23 


530  VIRGINIA   CAPT^. 

The  hand  that  held  the  martial  rein, 
And  hurled  the  spear  on  many  a  plain  — 
Stretch  till  they  clasp  the  shackles  there  I 

The  foot  that  once  could  crush  the  crown, 
Must  drag  the  fetters  till  it  bleed 
Beneath  their  weight  —  thou  dost  not  need 

It  now,  to  tread  the  tyrant  down ! 

Thou  thought'st  him  vanquished — boastful  trust 
His  lance  in  twain,  his  sword  a  wreck, 
But  with  his  heel  upon  tli^  neck, 

He  holds  thee  prostrate  in  the  dust. 

Bend  though  thou  must,  beneath  his  will, 
Let  no  one  abject  moan  have  place ; 
But  with  majestic  silent  grace. 

Maintain  thy  regal  bearing  still. 

Look  back  through  all  thy  storied  past, 

And  sit  erect  in  conscious  pride. 

ITo  grander  heroes  ever  died  — 
Ko  sterner  battled  to  the  last. 

"Weep,  if  thou  wilt,  with  proud,  sad  mien. 
Thy  blasted  hopes  —  thy  peace  undone ; 
Yet,  brave,  live  on  —  nor  seek  to  shun 

Thy  fate,  like  Egypt's  conquered  Queen. 

Though  forced  a  captive's  place  to  fill. 
In  the  triumphal  train  — yet  there 
Superbly,  like  Zenobia,  wear 

Thy  chains — ■  Virginia  victrix  still  I 


THE    MEN.  531 


CIji!  ITfir. 


BY   MAURICE   BELL. 


In  the  dusk  of  the  forest  shade, 

A  sallow  and  dusty  group  reclined  ; 
Gallops  a  horseman  up  the  glade, — 

''Where  will  I  your  leader  find? 
Tidings  I  bring  from  the  morning's  scout, 

I've  borne  them  o'er  mount,  and  moor  and  fen." 
"Well,  sir,  stay  not  hereabout, 

Here  are  only  a  few  of  '  the  men.' 

"  Here  no  collar  has  bar  or  star. 

No  rich  lacing  adorns  the  sleeve  ; 
Farther  on  our  officers  are, 

Let  them  your  report  receive. 
Higher  up  —  on  the  hill  up  there, 

Overlooking  this  shady  glen. 
There  are  their  quarters  —  don't  stop  here, 

We  are  only  some  of  'the  men.' 

"  Yet  stay,  courier,  if  you  bear 

Tidings  that  the  fight  is  near, 
Tell  them  we're  ready,  and  that  where 

They  wish  us  to  be  we'll  soon  appear; 
Tell  them  only  to  let  us  know 

Where  to  form  our  ranks,  and  when ; 
And  we'll  teach  the  vaunting  foe 

That  they've  met  a  few  of  '  the  men  ! ' 

"We're  the  men,  though  our  clothes  are  worn. 
We're  the  men,  though  we  wear  no  lace ; 

We're  the  men,  who  the  foe  have  torn. 

And  scattered  their  ranks  in  dire  disgrace; 

We're  the  men  who  have  triumphed  before. 


532  TO   A   PHOTOGRAPH. 

We're  the  men  who  will  triumph  again : 
For  the  dust,  and  the  smoke,  and  the  cannon's  roar, 
And  the  clashing  bayonets,  '  we're  the  men  ! ' 

"  Ye  who  sneer  at  the  battle-scars. 

Of  garments  faded,  and  soiled  and  bare, — 
Yet  who  have  for  the  '  stars  and  bars ' 

Praise  and  homage  and  dainty  fare, 
Mock  the  wearers  and  pass  them  on, 

Eefuse  them  a  kindly  word  —  and  then 
Know,  if  your  freedom  is  ever  won 

By  human  agents  —  tliese  are  the  men  /" 


S^0  a  ^bjotograplj. 


BY  CAPT.  J.  B.  CLARKE. 


This  shadow  of  a  distant  friend, 

Eeflected  by  a  sunbeam  here, — 
Why  must  my  heart  before  it  bend  ? 

Say,  whence  its  power  to  soothe  and  cheer  ? 

In  vain,  I  summon  back  the  years  — 

Remembrances  of  woe  or  bliss ; 
Some  come  in  mirth,  and  some  in  tears, 

But  never  comes  a  face  like  this. 

And  why?  If  thou  art  all  unknown, 
Sweet  Lady,  faintly  shadowed  there, 

Should  I  unlock  my  heart  to  thee, 
Disclosing  all  its  weight  of  care  ? 

Why  should  I  wish  to  think  a  sigh 


TO   A    PHOTOGRAPH.  533 

Had  ever  breathed  upon  thy  lips  ? 
Or  that  a  tear  might  ever  dim 

Thine  eyes'  soft  splendor  with  eclipse  ? 

To  feel  the  sorrows  of  thy  kind, 

And  mourn  them  in  a  generous  heart, 

Bestows  a  melancholy  joy. 

Which  wealth  nor  beauty  can  impart. 

I  know  my  soul  seeks  not  in  vain 

Thy  sympathy.     It  reads  replies 
Upon  thy  fair  brow's  broad  domain  — 

On  tender  lips, —  in  truthful  eyes. 

Ah,  Southern  Maiden,  tell  me  why 
That  earnest  clasping  of  the  hands? 

And  what  would  seek  thy  lifted  eye, 
In  yonder  fair,  celestial  lands  ? 

Dost  thou  recall  that  hour's  sweet  pain. 
When  burning  cheek  and  heaving  breast, 

Eevealed  a  truer  love  than  e'er 

The  pliant  minion's  words  expressed  ? 

Mayhap  thy  dreamy  gaze,  uplifting. 
Some  radiant  angel  greets  thy  sight, 

Adown  the  cloudless  ether  drifting, 
Eesplendant  in  the  purple  light. 

And  smiling  from  the  upper  Heaven, 

Upon  thy  truth  and  innocence  — 
The  pure  behold  the  beautiful. 

Though  hidden  deep  from  grosser  sense. 

Serenely,  ever  beat  thy  heart, 

Nor  care  thy  fair  young  brow  divide! 

Be  all  thy  hours,  like  roses  cast 

On  some  clear  brook's  unruffled  tide  I 


534  VICKSBURG. 


©  irksburg. 


BY  PAUL    H.    HAYNE. 


For  sixty  days  and  upwards, 

A  storm  of  shell  and  shot 
Eained  round  us  in  a  flaming  shower, 

But  still  we  faltered  not. 
"  If  the  noble  city  perish," 

Our  grand  yoting  leader  said, 
"  Let  the  only  walls  the  foe  shall  scale 

Be  ramparts  of  the  dead  I  " 

For  sixty  days  and  upwards 

The  eye  of  Heaven  waxed  dim. 
And  e'en  throughout  Grod's  holy  morn, 

O'er  Christians'  prayer  and  hymn. 
Arose  a  hissing  tumult, 

As  if  the  fiends  of  air 
Strove  to  engulph  the  voice  of  faith 

In  the  shrieks  of  their  despair. 

There  was  wailing  in  the  houses. 

There  was  trembling  on  the  marts, 
While  the  tempest  raged  and  thundered, 

'Mid  the  silent  thrill  of  hearts ; 
But  the  Lord,  our  shield,  was  with  us ; 

And  e're  a  month  had  sped, 
Our  very  women  walked  the  streets, 

With  scarce  one  throb  of  dread. 

And  the  little  children  gamboled  — 

Their  faces  purely  raised, 
Just  for  a  wondering  moment, 

As  the  hu^e  bombs  whirled  and  blazed ! 


VICKSBURG.  535 

Then  turned  with  silvery  laughter 

To  the  sports  which  children  love, 
Thrice  mailed  in  the  sweet  instructive  thought 

That  the  good  God  watched  above.* 

Tet  the  hailing  bolts  fell  faster 

From  scores  of  flame-clad  ships, 
And  about  us  denser,  darker, 

Grew  the  conflict's  wild  eclipse  ; 
Till  a  solid  cloud  closed  o'er  us. 

Like  a  type  of  doom  and  ire, 
Whence  shot,  a  thousand  quivering  tongues 

Of  forked  and  venofeful  fire. 


o 


But  the  unseen  hands  of  Angels 

Those  death-shafts  turned  aside. 
And  the  dove  of  heavenly  mercy 

Euled  o'er  the  battle  tide  ; 
In  the  houses  ceased  the  wailing, 

And  through  the  war-scarred  marts 
The  people  trod  with  the  step  of  hope, 

To  the  music  in  their  hearts. 

*  It  has  been  stated  by  one  professing  to  have  witnessed  the  fact,  that 
some  weeks  after  the  beginning  of  this  terrific  bombardment,  not  only  were 
ladies  seen  coolly  walking  the  streets,  but  that,  in  some  parts  of  the  town, 
children  were  observed  at  play,  only  interrupting  their  sports  to  gaze  and 
listen  to  the  bursting  shells. 


536  FAREWELL   TO   JOHNSON'S    ISLAND. 


"^ift^angtb!" 


BY  MAj.  GEO.  Mcknight. 


From  his  dim  prison  house  by  Lake  Erie's  bleak  shore, 

He  is  borne  to  his  last  resting  place ; 
The  glow  of  affection  and  friendship  no  more 

Shall  rest  on  the  captive's  wan  face ; 
The  terms  of  his  ^^  cartel  "  his  God  has  arranged, 
And  the  pris'ner  of  war  has  at  length  been  "  exchanged." 

His  comrades  consign  his  remains  to  the  earth, 

With  a  tear  and  a  sigh  of  regret ; 
He  died  far  away  from  the  land  of  his  birth, 

From  a  land  he  could  never  forget. 
'Mid  the  scenes  of  his  boyhood  his  fancy  last  ranged, 
Ere  the  sorrows  of  life  and  its  cares  were  "exchanged." 

The  clods  of  the  Island  now  rest  on  the  head, 
That  the  fierce  storm  of  battle  had  sj^ared; 

On  the  field  that  was  strewn  with  the  dying  and  dead,  . 
Whose  hardships  and  perils  he  shared  ; 

From  home,  and  from  all  that  he  loved,  long  estranged. 

Death  pitied  his  lot,  and  the  captive  "  exchanged." 


JfanfodI  to  Jfobnsoit's  fslantr. 


BY    MAJ.    GEO.  MCKNIGHT. 


I  LEAVE  thy  shores,  O  hated  Isle, 

Where  misery  marked  my  days ; 
And  seek  the  land  where  loved  ones  smile. 


FAREWELL    TO   JOHNSON'S   ISLAND.  537 

Where  summer  scenes  the  heart  beguile, 
In  genial,  balmy  rays. 

I  quit  thy  loathsome  prison  walls, 

With  joyous,  bounding  heart, 
To  tread  again  the  Southern  halls, 
To  go  where'er  my  duty  calls, 

And  bear  my  humble  part. 

No  more  thy  snows  (God  grant  no  more !) 

Will  robe  my  prison  cell ; 
Nor  icy  wind  beat  'gainst  my  door, 
Kor  storm-blasts  round  my  prison  roar, 

Within  this  Northern  hell. 

No  more  my  ears  will  hear  the  cry 

Of  Southern  braves,  for  bread ; 
Nor  scenes  of  sorrow  meet  mine  eye  — 
Where  those  fare  worse  who  cannot  die. 

Than  those  already  dead. 

But  soft  I'll  drop  a  parting  tear, 

In  memory  of  those 
Who  lost  to  loving  hearts  fore'er. 
Now  rest  in  dreamless  slumber  here, 

Secure  from  hated  foes. 

Then  haste  thee,  steam  and  friendly  wind, 

To  bear  me  from  this  shore  ; 
To  leave  this  wretched  soil  behind, 
To  bear  me  where  my  heart  shall  find 

Freedom  forever  more ! 


558  *'CLINGINa   TO    THEE." 

A  SONG. 


BY.    MAJ.    S.    Y.    LEVY. 


When  the  star  of  hope  shines  brightly, 
And  the  soul  is  glad  and  free ; 

"When  the  spirit  soars  up  lightly  — 
Thou,  my  love,  art  all  to  me, 

And  the  j^rayer  I  utter  nightly 

Centres  ^round  and  breathes  of  thee. 

When  adversity  frowns  grimly, 
Quelling  gladness,  joy  and  glee ; 

When  the  star  of  hope  shines  dimly  — 
Thou,  my  love,  art  all  to  me ; 

And  the  more  it  darkens  dimly, 
Cling  I  closer,  love,  to  thee ! 

And  as  life  shall  vary,  never  — 

ISTever  from  thee  may  I  be  ; 
Neither  storm  nor  shine  shall  sever 

Thee,  my  love,  my  life,  from  me ! 
Harder  blows  the  gale,  oh  !  ever 

Cling  I  closer,  love,  to  thee ! 


mx^d  m  ^ris0n. 


BY   LIEUT.    J.    E.    DOOLEY. 


GrENTLE  sunbeams  brightly  fall 
O'er  ray  heated  prison  wall  ; 
Smiling  sunbeams  full  of  love. 
Kindly  cheer  us  from  above ; 


THE   CONQUERED    BANNER.  539 

Evening  sunshine  hither  darts 
Mellow  glances  on  our  hearts; 
Lovely  glows  the  Western  sky, 
Fringed  with  gorgeous  crimson  dye  ; 
Changing  clouds  their  splendor  lose, 
Fainter  grow  the  crimson  hues; 
Phoebus  seeks  his  welcome  bed, 
Twilight  comes  with  stealthy  tread; 
Hazy  forms  surround  us  all, 
Dark'ning  shadows  'round  us  fall ; 
Night  descending  fills  the  room, 
Bringing  sadness  with  its  gloom. 


Cl^-e  ^anc^mxt)^  '§Knmx. 


BY   "  MOINA.'' 
[The  Rev.  A.  J.  Ryan,  of  Knoxville,  Diocese  of  Nashville,  Tennessee.] 


Furl  that  Banner,  for  'tis  weary  ; 
Bound  its  staff  'tis  drooping  dreary ; 

Furl  it,  fold  it,  it  is  best  : 
For  there's  not  a  man  to  wave  it. 
And  there's  not  a  sword  to  save  it. 
And  there's  not  one  left  to  lave  it 
In  the  blood  which  heroes  gave  it; 
And  its  foes  now  scorn  and  brave  it; 

Furl  it,  hide  it  —  let  it  rest. 

Take  that  Banner  down,  'tis  tattered ; 
Broken  is  its  staff  and  shattered ; 
And  the  valiant  hosts  are  scattered, 

Over  whom  it  floated  high. 
Oh  !  'tis  hard  fo;*  us  to  fold  it ; 
Hard  to  think  there's  none  to  hold  it; 
Hard  that  those,  who  once  unrolled  it, 


540  THE    CONQUERED   BANNER. 

Now  must  furl  it  with  a  sigh. 


o 


Furl  that  Banner  —  furl  it  sadly; 
Once  ten  thousands  hailed  it  gladly, 
And  ten  thousands  wildly,  madly. 

Swore  it  should  forever  wave ; 
Swore  that  foeraan's  sword  would  never 
Hearts  like  theirs  entwined  dissever, 
Till  that  flag  should  float  forever 

O'er  their  freedom,  or  their  grave ! 

Furl  it !  for  the  hands  that  grasped  it, 
And  the  hearts  that  fondly  clasped  it, 

Cold  and  dead  are  lying  low ; 
And  that  Banner  —  it  is  trailing! 
"While  around  it  sounds  the  wailing 

Of  its  people  in  their  woe. 

For,  though  conquered,  they  adore  it! 
Love  the  cold,  dead  hands  that  bore  it ! 
Weep  for  those  who  fell  before  it ! 
Pardon  those  who  trailed  and  tore  it! 
But,  oh !  wildly  they  deplore  it, 
Now  who  furl  and  fold  it  so. 

Furl  that  Banner !  True,  'tis  gory, 
Yet  'tis  wreathed  around  with  glory. 
And  'twill  live  in  song  and  story, 

Though  its  folds  are  in  the  dust : 
For  its  fame  on  brightest  pages, 
Penned  by  poets  and  by  sages. 
Shall  go  sounding  down  the  ages  — 

Furl  its  folds  though  now  we  m'ust. 

Furl  that  Banner,  softly,  slowly, 
Treat  it  gently  —  it  is  holy  — 

For  it  droops  above  the  dead. 
Touch  it  not  —  unfold  it  never. 
Let  it  droop  there,  furled  forever, 

For  its  people's  hopes  are  dead ! 


On  page  249,  for  "  Larvegne,"  read  Lavergne. 

252,  "  First  Love,"  Author— Col.  B,  H.  Jones. 
"         254,  for  "  At  noontide  of  our  manhood,"  read  '•'■And  at  noontide,"  «fec. 
"         255,  for  •'  Lieut.  Howard,"  read  Lieut.  Howard  C.  Wright 
"         260,  in  7th  stanza,  for  "  waves,"  read  waved. 
"         276,  in  the  last  line  for  "  one  "  Brigade,  read  our  Brigade. 
"         279,  in  4th  line  from  bottom,  for  "  limps,"  read  linibs. 
"        280,  in  5th  line  from  top,  for  "  come,"  read  came. 
"         282,  in  16th  line  from  top,  for  "  there,"  read  these. 
"         302,  in  20th  line  from  top,  for  "  was  carved,"  read  were  carved. 
"         308,  in  first  line  of  Biographical  Sketch  of  Lieut.  Howard  C.  Wright,  for 

''  this  accomplished,"  read  the  accomplished. 
"         310,  in  7th  line  of  3rd  stanza,  for  "  gleaming,"  read  glancing. 
"         316,  in  4th  line,  for  "their  companions,"  read  his  companions. 
"         322,  in  3rd  stanza,  for  "  deck  his  dead,"  read  deck  his  head. 
"         332,  in  lOth  line  from  top,  for  "  beast,"  read  beasts. 
•'         334,  in  16th  line  from  top,  for  "  difference,"  read  diffidence. 
"         335,  in  12th  line  from  bottom,  for  "  no  letters,"  read  in  letters. 
"         341,  in  16th  line,  for  "  of  infancy,"  read  of  oxi7'  infancy. 
"         341,  in  18th  line,  for  "  is  was  granted,"  read  it  was  granted. 
"         349,  in  lOth  line  of  Biographical  Sketch  of  Col.  W.  W.  Fontaine,  for 

"  flowed,"  read  flows. 
"         354,  for  Adjutant  John  V.  "  Sherter,"  read  Shorter.  ' 

"         356,  for  Lieut.  J.  E.  "  Dooles,"  read  Dooley. 
"         356,  in  3rd  stanza,  2d  line,  for  "  ever  best,"  read  ever  blest. 
"         357,  for  "  swarthy  king,"  read  swarthy  kings. 
"         369,  for  "  Shenandoah  crawls,"  read  Shenandoah  braiols. 
"         374,  for  "  weeping  women  came,"  read  weeping  women  come. 

382,  in  2d  line,  lOth  stanza,  for  "  Bold ,"  read  Ben  Butler. 

"         383,  in  the  first  line  of  "The  Women  of  the  South,"  for  "recovered," 

read  recorded. 
"         383,  for  "  East  Atlanta,"  read  Potomac. 
"         387,  in  2d  line,  1st  stanza,  for  "bends  his  marble  brow,"  read  beads  his 

marble  brow. 
"         389,  in  14th  line  from  bottom,  for  "  night  might,"  read  mid-night. 
"         430,  in  2d  line  of  3d  stanza,  for  "  knew,"  read  know. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

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